Letters' Agenda
by SilverB91
Summary: The Men of Letters weren't all wiped out in 1958, and they want the Winchesters. Amy and George Seymour, brother and sister, are sent to convince the boys to follow them to Rome for training, or else, but they both have hidden agendas for our favorite Hunters. Can Sam and Dean really trust them? I only own Amy and George.
1. C1 p1: The Meeting

**Hi, this is my first fanfic in English (I'm Italian) and I will really appreciate feedback! Also, I promise to be no less mean to my own country in the future, but for now, I hope you enjoy!**

I sat down in the last empty boot in the diner, squashing the urge to clean it. My mother would have taken out a kerchief and cleaned both the seat and the table. The surface was greasy but I was tired enough to ignore it. And God help me, I had eaten in worse place in the last few years. On second thought, my mother would never have stepped into this diner.

My quarry was supposed to be here soon enough.

It was almost time to do my job.

And not a second too soon, either. I had had quite enough of the US of A and of its citizens, too. Bloody country was made of unpleasant, rude and loudmouthed fools. And I would bet the family's fortune that the two apes I was looking for would be no better than the rest. I could not wait to be back in Europe.

 _WE have an assignment, remember? WE are taking the "legacies" to Rome. And may I remind you how much we love Italians?_ Even my inner voice was sarcastic tonight. I generally saved it for others. Especially George, who had been getting on my nerves more than usual, in the past two months.

A tired-looking waitress in a skirt that was at least three inches too short to be worn during the day came to take my order. I asked for the day's special without even looking: whatever it was, it was probably cow and/or pig, either fried or seared, with greasy stuff on top. _At least in Italy we will eat better._ I reminded my inner voice.

 _And grow even fatter. Fantastic!_ I had already taken three pounds during this bloody assignment. I have a weakness for pie and cheesecake, and I could admit that those were things americans excelled at.

 _If you can't be positive, Amy, shut up and do some research._

 _I am being positive. I'm_ positive _we will be fat as a cow right on time for Christmas._

I had enough of my brain, too, for the evening. I pulled out my phone and checked the information the Men of Letters had sent me. It was mostly information about my quarry's accomplishments and some drivel about books written by a prophet named Chuck. Who ever heard of something like that?

I skipped to the information about places where they liked to eat. They had visited this diner seven times in the past three months, but never in any pattern that I could follow. They were paranoid, a trait that I could appreciate, but it had made my job very difficult: I had spent the last two months stalking them and bugging their car, while tolerating George's nagging and complaining. To say I was cross by now, would be an understatement of criminal proportions.

In fact, my life would be much simpler if I could just drug both of them and let them wake up in Rome. Let the Men of Letters deal with them. But no, no, of course not. "They must be convinced" I mocked in my dad's voice.

Finally my food arrived. QED, it was some manner of greasy pig and cow meat. Yay.

The chips weren't bad, though. I was munching on them and checking the GPS tracker on my phone when I saw it stop in front of the diner. I barely had the time to turn it off and dump it in my backpack before they came inside. They must have been hungry. God knows how much food it would take to keep the big one fed. Talk about high maintenance.

The pictures didn't show how tall they both were, actually. Even the smaller one would tower over me. Not that I was intimidated: George had been towering over me for years and if I really wanted to I could kill him three times before he ever hit the floor. Lucky for my brother, I actually loved the ass, somewhere deep down.

I had studied their habits in the last few months and had noticed that they preferred to sit in a booth or at the counter. Tonight they were all full, which worked great for me: if they decided to take their food to go I would just follow them to the bunker, slip inside and explain, and avoid waiting while they stuffed their faces.

It looked like they did not intend to leave anytime soon. In fact, they were marching toward me.

 _Crap they made us, Amy. Shit._

But no, I shouldn't have worried: "Hi, I'm sorry, do you mind if we sit with you? My brother is PMSing and he needs pie." it was the taller one, Samuel. No, he preferred Sam. I reminded myself that the best approach was no longer pretending I didn't know them. It would be suspicious, or well, more suspicious. The puppy-eyes, combined with a smile that was all disarming dimples, were fantastic, made him look nice and harmless. I might have been fooled, if I had not read the files.

"Of course, I can understand the need for pie" I smiled. A nice girl smile, easy, sunny, no threat. I had to work to keep remembering how to smile like that, and I wondered if this giant had to force himself to remember how not to be threatening. The other one, Dean, didn't seem to bother trying though. While his brother was bigger, Dean was… I could not quite put my finger on it: he wasn't threatening or mean or scary, but there was something dark, there, just under the surface, violence barely leashed, an intensity he could never hide completely. I could relate.

Then he put on the charm.

"That's some accent you've got there. What is a subject of Her Majesty doing in the US?" For God's sake, spare me. I was pretty enough: small, pale, dark brown hair braided on my shoulder, good cheekbones, a little make-up to enhance common brown eyes, good sized boobs under a clean t-shirt. No bombshell, though. And Dean Winchester was hitting on me. _Ohhh, look, we've got an admirer. He likes us even if we are fat. Our life is finally complete! Shame that he's a caveman._

 _Shut up, we are not fat. Try not to sound like mother or I swear to God, we are going to a shrink as soon as we are back in England._ I waited for them both to be seated.

Show time. "Actually, I was looking for you"

He took it as a line. Of course, he took it as a line. "Hmmm, really, sweetheart? And tell me, what can I do for you?" I had to admit the full power of his green eyes was something to be seen, but no. Just no.

I smiled again, this time with a bit more bite. "I meant, I was specifically sent to this godawful country to find you and your brother, Dean Winchester."

Now that got his attention. The charm vanished and he went for a weapon. Ah, there the violence is. I just kept on eating. What? I said the fries weren't bad.


	2. C1 p2: Aut Aut

**Hi everyone, I have a few installments ready, but I'm going to publish every couple of days to give myself time to write more and not force you to wait longer between them. I hope you enjoy the ride! Reviews and comment are always welcome!**

Sam stopped him from pulling the gun out. "Dude, damnit, Dean, look around! There are families here!" The files were right, Sam was the reasonable one. Good to know.

I was positive I had a gun - _make that two of them, genius_ \- pointed at me under the table.

I waved my half eaten fry at Dean. "Calm down. I'm not a threat."

I took out a silver knife, pricked the back of my arm with it as discretely as possible, then washed out the small cut with holy water, and showed it to them. "You can do all the tests you want, later." I pushed the burger closer to Dean: I wasn't going to eat it, and he looked like the kind of man who got meaner when he was hungry. I had already picked out and eaten the bacon, anyway. "Here, consider it a peace offering. Now," I went right ahead at their suspicious looks "I could have poisoned or drugged it, and to be perfectly honest, it would make my job a lot easier, but you are no use to me dead and if I drugged you, I'd have to explain it away and then drag your hulking asses out of here _and_ you would wake up cross and uncooperative. Unpleasantness for everyone involved."

"Your job?" ah, the reasonable one.

I smiled at him: he had focused on the key word, good for him. "My name is Amelia Seymour, your names are Sam and Dean Winchester, aged 35 and 39, I would like to say nice to meet you, but you two are my job, right now. The Men of Letters want me to bring you in."

Bitch-face one and two, stared right back at me. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry to tell you, but the Men of Letters are dead." Dean. And he hadn't even touched the burger. Rude, what did I tell you?

"Well, that makes it incredibly easier to tell you this: the world does not revolve around America." I waved another fry around, gesturing to the diner and the entire continent… I could probably have been a little less caustic, but I had been living with my brother, on the road, in bloody America for the past two months. Caustic was the best I could do at this point. "The American Chapter was wiped out in 1958 by Abadon, the rest of the world went right on. In fact, that Chapter was the youngest and one of the smallest. Europe has the two oldest. Asia counts five chapters on the small side."

By now they were staring at me as if I'd grown another head. "Run that by us again?"

"The American branch died out, the rest of the tree is quite healthy." I didn't know how to put it plainer. It looked like they got it. Hopefully they would believe me "And they want you trained."

I knew why I had fought to give them this chance, but I couldn't quite figure out why the other Men of Letter wanted them in our ranks so badly, I mean it was obvious they were very intelligent men, but no more so than many other hunters. Legacies or not, hunters didn't make the best Men of Letters: we were too impulsive, went crazy when forced to be inactive for too long and tended to stab monsters first and not to bother with the questioning. I was the perfect example. Not knowing the board's agenda drove me crazy.

"And you are, what, supposed to be our trainer?"

That was the moment the waitress noticed the two attractive giants sitting at my table without food. _Ohhh, look competition! She's thinner, too. I hate her._

 _SHUT. UP._

 _Well, what do you want to do? Flirt with her too?_

I waited for the waitress to giggle, coo, take their orders and be gone. Thankfully they were more focused on the potential threat than on her legs, so it was over quickly. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm not your teacher. I'm the… carrot, so to speak."

"The carrot." Not a question.

"That implies a stick." Not a question either, but I took it as one.

 _Stick is certainly the right way to describe George_. My brother was tall, but very thin, and tended to poke at things. I smirked "That would be my brother, George. He will be your interim teacher. And he's the one with the order to empty and seal up your bunker if you refuse. He's a Man of Letters."

"And you are… what? His cheerleader?" I think I had freaked them out a little bit: the bitch-faces were back, and Dean seemed to have forgotten to keep up the poker expression.

"No, I'm a hunter."

"You're a hunter."

"Is there an echo? Yes, I'm a Woman of Letters and a bloody good hunter." I paused to eat, then went on "The European board decided it was better to send me instead of someone with more experience in the Letters because I'm less… likely to drive you insane, to be honest. That's George's job. You'll have the pleasure to meet him later. I'm also the one who is supposed to keep the peace and 'have a soothing influence'" I smirked on that last part. Magda Amell had said that, with all the snobbery she could, when I was assigned the job. She still believed me a sweet debutante in a white gown. _As if. We weren't sweet back then either, we just hid it better._

 _That we did._ I might have to resort to my old tricks, when I was less… cranky. _But hey, pumping all of them full of tranquilizers counts as soothing influence, right?_

Their food arrived and I took the opportunity to order apple pie for everyone. I believe the waitress wrote it down, but she was too busy measuring them for her bed to really notice my existence. Hopefully she would not bring back a bagel.

Dean immediately started in on a heart-attack-before-your-forties burger but I noticed Samuel had gone for a giant salad and chicken plate. I filed that information away for later. Keeping him in greens would be a nightmare.

I let them dig in, then started talking: "When the American Chapter was wiped off the map, things were… less than stable in Europe. What happened here made them more cautious, they started making the Chapters smaller, the bunkers more discreet. Before the Fifties there were two gigantic bunkers in Europe: one in Oslo and one in Athens. Oldest in the whole wide world and all that. Now there are eighty two. There are only six people who know and have access to all of them. Those six people and the heads of the singular chapters make up the European board. European is a misnomer as they have members from and power all over the world, but the name stuck. They get together once every three years, the rest of the time the videoconference or whatever. The gist of this being: there is no chance of the European Men of Letters being entirely wiped out like it happened in America. They learned, at least." I paused. "With all that happened in the last few years, it was decided that the American Chapter should be reinstated. It was also decided that as the last living Legacies of the defunct members you two should be brought in the fold, trained and taught. It was not an unanimous decision and many in the board believe you to be, and I quote: "reckless idiots", "menaces to the safety of the world" and "dangerous baboons". Now, I'm not telling you this to antagonize you, but I believe in making informed decisions, so here it is, you are being offered a chance to become full fledged Men of Letters.

"If you accept you will be given the bunker you are currently living in, a plump yearly stipend and another bonus that I am not allowed to explain until you both say yes. Your expenses for the next few months will be paid in full. After that the European board will send a few expert trainers here to help you set up a new network of trained operatives to create a few more, small, chapters all over the Country, update your bunker and create at least a couple more.

"If you say no, on the other hand, you will be evicted from the bunker, which will be emptied of all things of value to the Men of Letters, unwarded and demolished. No bonus, no check, no passing go and collecting $200. The offer will not be made again. In fact your mind will be wiped of all information concerning the Men of Letters, just to be on the safe side." I paused while the waitress brought the treats. So, looked like she was listening. The boys looked intermittently at me and each-other, careful to keep their poker faces up. It was entirely possible I had overloaded their brains. One never knows. "You don't have to choose tonight, of course, you have a week to answer then our private plane will take us to Rome."

"Rome?" this at least got some reaction. Sam looked… not really intrigued but at least interested enough to crack the facade. Dean's face might as well have been a slab of granite. Good enough. My job for the evening was done. I let them stew and dug into my little slice of apple heaven.


	3. C1 p3: Agendas

**_Hi guys! So, as you may have figured out, this is set about a year after the end of the 11th season, Amara and Lucifer are gone, I obviously don't know how, and I will try to avoid spoilers for the current season, but there are some tiny ones in this installment, so you are warned. Will try to keep this fic as spoiler free as possible, though! Kisses all around!_**

I studied them from under my lashes while I ate. The pie was delicious, and they definitely counted as eye-candy.

I hadn't told them the one thing that would make both of them say yes in an heartbeat and while I knew that that wasn't my decision to make, I knew if they accepted knowing the bonus nobody would really believe that they were committed to the cause. It was a… terrific bonus.

Whoever had made the offer was… I don't know. Bonkers. Or scarily determined to have them brought into the Letters and defanged and declawed. I had even convinced George not to tell them until we were on the plane to Rome.

I refocused on my quarry. They were silent, thinking it out in their own heads, no doubt playing out a conversation that they would have later, in private.

I didn't push. I had dumped a lot on them.

 _And we all remember how well it went when Father brought us into the Men of Letters to stop us from hunting._ I went crazy. They had assigned me to a office post right out of training, dumping me in a museum-like library hidden inside a cliff in Wales, with only a septuagenarian member for company, who played solitaire (with actual cards, as there was no way to connect to the internet) all day, because my dad was afraid I would get hurt. _Dad didn't know,_ I reminded myself. When I had to be hauled back from the cliff's hedge for the second time he realized it wasn't good to pen me. I toyed with my leather cuff, but stopped when I saw Sam track the movement.

 _Father let us go back to hunting._ My inner voice reminded me, not unkindly. I could feel the oppressive sensation of the claustrophobia rising just at the memory of the vault.

 _Yes, he did. He figured it out._ I got the need to get up, get out of the crowded little diner and run until my lungs burned under control by sheer force of will. I was more tired than expected if I was bringing up those memories.

"Why Rome?" the question almost startled me, especially because it was delivered by a whisky-on-the-rocks voice. I had expected Sam to ask, not Dean.

"Better teachers. Yours is a special situation. Normally a trainee would be eased into the investigative work, into the monster hunting and into the magic research by small steps, but you are accomplished hunters and good enough at investigative work that making you take those tests would be useless, while you are completely oblivious to magic. Rome is the biggest teaching chapter in Europe, most of us go there for at least a few of our tests. Teaching you there will simply be more efficient."

"Why not here? Our grandfather did all his… whatevers in the US"

"There were teachers here, back then. Now you have me, no teacher at all, and my brother, who is a teacher in training. It's not good enough."

I decided to take a gamble. I let the nice girl act drop completely, let them see something I kept carefully hidden from the Men of Letters and my family: the crazed monster inside. I knew they would listen to this Amy much more willingly than they did the mask. Hunters get damaged, and more often than not the scars weren't visible. "I made them wait until now. I used every bit of credibility and leverage I had to make them give you time. I knew that a year ago you would have refused because you felt responsible for the situation with Amara. You _were_ responsible. But you fixed it. Things are quiet right now. Other hunters can take the jobs you would for the next few months. I gave you time because I understand: you break it, you fix it. But this, this can make you better hunters than you could ever be on your own, and I say this knowing the full import of your reputation: you are legends already. Hell, I might even be a little bit in awe of meeting you, if I didn't know how much more good you could do to this planet if you accepted. Please, say yes."

Dean had focused on me so sharply, when I had dropped the mask, I knew he was expecting a threat or a fight, but now that focus had shifted, the intelligence that made him one of the best hunters in the world had come out. He let Sam be the brains of the operation most of the time, he thought of himself as muscle and little else, as I had, but the Men of Letters had seen something more, and now I could see it too. I had underestimated him, and that mistake could have cost me in a fight. I had to stay sharp around these two. "Why us? We might have saved the planet once or twice, but we broke it just as often. Why not someone younger, less messed up?"

I looked at both of them, Sam was watching me carefully, too, but with more gentleness. The earnest expression on his face encouraging me to talk. _Let's not make the same mistake twice: he might look like an overgrown puppy but inside he's just as much a pittbull as his brother._

 _Maybe. We'll see. Shall we poke at them a bit?_ "You are Legacies and you have a right to this offer." I said.

"That is not an answer" Sam, the law training coming out to play. "You just had to avoid telling us that there was an offer to be made, emptied and bombed the bunker while we were out and we would never have known. In fact, you could have done it yourself and made your job a lot easier and quicker."

I smiled at him. _Ruthless and clever, I like._ "We could have. Some in the board wanted to do just that. I told them it would be a waste."

"Why?"

"Do you know how many Man and Women of Letters are or have been hunters?" I arched an eyebrow, gave them a second to remember meeting Henry Winchester and his reaction at their occupation. "Twenty-three. In the entire world. I want to make that a nice, round twenty-five."

"What I don't understand, and correct me if I'm wrong here, is: why do you care? You don't seem to like us much." This was Dean.

"Oh, no, I actually do like you." I paused, thinking trough what I was about to admit, hoping it wasn't too soon. "All right, cards on the table: I care because the Men of Letters are stagnating. They find cursed objects, stash them somewhere safe, and write pages and pages and pages of research on them, close themselves in libraries and dissemble for weeks on the merits of this spell over that one. And nothing. Ever. Fucking. Changes. Having two more hunters, and very respected hunters at that, with a voice in the board would give us a little more leverage to change things. You may not be universally loved among our members but you are respected. Other hunters among our number will listen to you and hesitate before ignoring you opinions. I need that sort of leverage. It's what I have been looking for for the past six years."

Disbelief from Sam, outright derision from Dean. "I'm sorry, you want us to be politicians?"

I laughed. A full on cackle. Even the other me inside chuckled. "God, no, I'm not that delusional!" _Let's not lie to the boys, Amy, we are quite delusional._ Very true. "What I want is for you to do what you do best: fight and win. And I want you to fight for other hunters." I went on, putting my entire agenda out there. "Right now the hunters hunt and the Men of Letters take up dust in some library, bored out of their minds most of the time. Imagine for a second what an hunter could do with the support from the Men of Letters.

"We aren't talking about any Jack-come-lately, we are talking about disgustingly well-connected and rich men, with a calling to help the world, and nothing better to do than help out an hunter in a tight spot. It would be enough to give them a number to call when they need help." I was aware that there was a lot of passion in my voice, I was no politician, either, but for this I would be. I had seen too many hunters die when a call to the Letters would have saved them. "So here it is, you want to know why I want you so badly? Because you are amazingly good, with training I have no doubt you will reach old age. And I want you to use those extra years to help me fight to get access for the hunters. Ultimately I want all of them trained by the Men of Letters, I want them to have safe places to sleep, to heal, and to train. In fact, I want them to come out of the proverbial closet, given enough time, and with backing from the Men of Letters. No more fake IDs, no more running from the law, no more hustling pool for cash or going hungry, no more squatting in abandoned houses and no more dying alone, unthanked and unremembered.

"If you want to know why they agreed to send me, I can only guess but probably because I'm the most likely to win your trust since I'm an hunter long before I'm a Woman of Letters"

I could see they weren't convinced, but they weren't dismissive anymore. I decided to count that as a win. I ate the last bit of my pie, then looked at them. "Now you know why I want you. No secrets, no hidden agendas." I smiled, showing them my hands. "That's not to say my dad or my brother agree with me, know my goals, or don't have their own, but you know why I'm here."

I pushed the plate away, looked at their empty ones and said: "Now, can you boys give me a lift back to the bunker?"


	4. C2 p1: Leather Seats

**Hi everyone, short installment this time, but I loved writing every bit of chapter 2 (the other half is coming soon), and I hope you like it too!**

Sitting in the backseat of the Winchesters's Impala, I felt the tiredness of the last months catch up to me. Hiding the small panic attack I had inside the diner had sapped the last of my energy.

I was a mess. I knew that.

 _Normal people don't have an extra voice in their heads, Amy_. The other me inside piped up, always very helpful... Not.

 _As if I don't know that._ The truth was, though, that I was justified. After what happened two years ago I... I had been in pieces. My father and the Men of Letters had forced me to see a psychiatrist, and I had gotten better, but not by much and mostly I had gotten better at hiding the cracks.

I tried to stay awake, as I didn't trust them not to wake me up when I was all good and trussed up, but the car smelled of leather, gunpowder and men, and I just couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. I wouldn't be able to sleep long anyway.

I woke up a few minutes later, but decided to pretend to be still asleep when I heard the men in the front seat talking softly, but animatedly. Keeping my breathing regular and deep and my eyes closed, I listened.

"What the Hell, Sammy!?"

"I'm just saying, if what she says checks out..."

"Then what? We pack up and go live in Europe?"

"If what she says is true it would only be for a few months, Dean. And we really may be able to change things, not just for us but for other hunters, too"

"She wants us to play politicians, Sam. I'm no politician."

"Look, I'm not saying we just believe her, jump on the first plane and... What?"

"Plane. Why have us go all the way to Rome? It might be a trap. I say we dump her somewhere while she sleeps."

"Seriously? This is your problem with this? A plane ride?"

"No!" _Too quick there, Winchester_... So, the big bad hunter had a very normal fear of flying. I filed the information away. "I don't trust her, how could we know nothing about the Men of Letters in Europe? We've been living in that bunker for four years!"

"And we never looked for evidence of more of them being around!"

"In four years we never stumbled on ONE piece of information that even hinted at the existence of more members"

"It makes sense, Dean. How many were there at Henry's time? Six? Seven? They could never have traveled all over the world, to collect the stuff in the bunker. Honestly I wondered about that."

"I'm sorry, you seriously believe her?"

"Dean, I'm not saying we just go along with whatever she says. There's two of them, so we can see if they tell the same story, and if they do, there must be at least one file in the bunker that hints at the Men of Letters here not being alone."

"And then what? Even if she is telling the truth, then what do we do? Just pack up and leave? There are people here who need us."

"Who, Dean? Cass is an Angel. Jody and the girls are fine. Charlie is dead… hell, almost everyone we know is dead!"

I heard the oldest curse under is breath. Then: "You want to do this, don't you? Become a Man of Letters, go study, whatever."

Samuel hesitated, and when his voice came it was softer. "Yes. If this checks out, I think it could be a good thing." He cleared his throat, the went on. "But I don't want to do it without you, Dean."

"Well, you're not. You're not going anywhere alone, Sammy. I don't trust her."

"Yeah, well, I don't either, but let's give her the benefit of the doubt, for now." _Good enough. We have a week to convince them. And, worst case scenario, we can always play the bonus card. You know they will say yes._

 _And become completely useless._

 _Bullshit. They will still be respected. And we'll get one more._

 _Maybe._ "Look, Dean, all I'm saying is, let's see what we can figure out. Worse comes to worst, are can always have Cass scrub their memories." A pause. I appreciated that Sam, at least, wasn't planning murder me and dump my body somewhere, but I was pretty sure that was Dean's back up plan. "We're almost back at the bunker. Let's wake her up."

A second later I felt a hand that could double as a shovel shaking my shoulder and I pretended to wake up, just as the Impala slowed down. _Time to introduce them to George, Amy… Oh, we'll enjoy that!_

The bunker looked much like the ones I had visited in Europe, and while it was a lot smaller than the ones in Oslo and Athens, it was bigger than most of the more recent ones.

I had had time to explore it in the last couple of months, while Sam and Dean where out hunting, and while my brother had focused on the archives and the vaults, I had paid more attention to the common areas and the private rooms.

The kitchen had been updated with a state-of-the-art fridge, a microwave and coffee machine, hell, they even brought in one of those espresso machines with the capsules. The common area and the library were spotless.

Of the ten bedrooms in the lower level only three showed signs of people living in them, all of them clean and kept in perfect order, the third probably belonged to the angel Castiel. I had thought angels didn't need such earthly comforts, and I doubted he had brought in the stuff for himself. It was interesting that they had feathered the nest for him too, bought a telly, posters and pictures of places from all around the world.

Their care of the bunker had made me like them. When I came here I respected them because I had read the reports on their jobs and on how many times they sacrificed themselves to save the world. I had been hoping that they would be what I was looking for, but seeing the kitchen and the angel's bedroom… that won _me_ over.

 _We already liked them, Amy. We got pictures of them. They look like greek gods. Trust me, we liked them._

 _Shut up._

 _Oh, com'on. We had more fun when you were crazier._ That was the moment when, just as I was crossing the door between the garage and the rest of the bunker, one of them grabbed me and knocked me out.

I wasn't even surprised, I knew they would do something like that.


	5. C2 p2: Bloody Water under the Bridge

The dream came as it usually did: _Cal is tied up in a chair while a ghoul cuts him,_ _and my idiot of a boyfriend is winking at me over the monster's head while I come up behind it. The ghoul is dead before it even sees me. It was the last one. Lucky for us there were only three._

 _"You stupid arse… look at you! You'll need stitches!" I scold while I push his head back to look at the cut on his forehead. "You'll have a scar!"_

 _"Love, would you untie me?"_

 _"No, you'll probably get yourself in some other kind of trouble as soon as I do!"_

 _"I promise to try to stay safe."_

 _"Bullshit." I press a piece of gauze on the cut. "But fine." I cut the ropes, help him up, but as soon as I let him go he drops to the floor. For a second I think he's more hurt than I realized, but he pulls something out of his pocket._

 _Kneeling there, on the floor of a room that smells of death and littered with bones, covered in blood from head to toe, a head next to his right foot and the rest of the ghoul body behind him, he holds up a cheap ring he probably bought in some tourist trap. "Since you seem so hell bent on saving my life, you might as well make it worth living, Amy Seymour. Would you accept to marry this stupid arse?"_

 _I laugh, and cry a little bit, and kiss him, and punch him and somehow manage to say "Yes!" in there, somewhere. I never could remember a day before this one when I was happier. And a second later I'm in a different room, a few years later, rocking his body, my hands slipping in blood as I try desperately to hold his intestines in a belly that has no muscle and skin anymore, the ribs gleaming in broken angles, caressing his face, the scar above those blue eyes that had been my world and now are empty and opaque, feeling something inside me shatter and become just as empty and opaque in a way that speaks of ruin._

I woke up a with a shudder. The tiredness was dragging me down. I rarely slept more than a few minutes at a time to avoid the dreams. Soon I would have to take some of Dr. Tanner pills to sleep and recharge.

I was on the floor in the dungeon, my arms stretched above my head. My damaged hip was already protesting the position. _Crap._ George had probably been awake for a while and talking his fool head off, too. Damn.

Instinct kicked in and I jerked against the handcuffs, then stilled. _Remember the plan. Careful, we need them._

 _Yes, yes, I remember._

I didn't need to wait long, the Winchester marched in a few minutes later. "So, daddy's an english Earl and sits in the House of Lords." See, my stupid ass brother is a chatterbox. I would punch him later.

Sam smirked: "We apologize if the accommodations leave something to be desired, Countess."

"Now, how about you tell us why you really came here for."

"I get that all that testosterone might make it difficult for your brain to retain information but I already told you and I don't like to repeat myself."

"Well, get this, little brother in the other room tells a very different story."

"Considering he doesn't know my reasons for being here, aside from being brawn to his brains, that does not surprise me at all."

"Why would you keep that info from your brother?"

"He trusts people I don't. Easy."

"Even then, it would be easy enough to find out what your plans are, Countess. Why feed us a line of bullshit about hunters when you had already given us the Men of Letters' ultimatum?"

"One, I don't like to play my cards before the time is right, so no, very few know about my plans, and two, because you needed to know. You are the kind of men who need a cause to thrive." I said, starting to get pissed. "Three, I really do care about hunters."

"Why the fuck would a spoiled little princess..."

"Technically, the term is Lady, you bloody asses. My mother is the Countess, and the princess is Kate Middleton."

Dean ignored me. "…care what happens to hunters?"

"What, have you forgotten that I'm a hunter too?"

Sam interrupted my bitching match with his brother to add his two cents: "You are the daughter of an Earl, a Woman of Letters, grew up in a freaking castle and play at being an hunter in your spare time, forgive me if I don't see the similarities"

The floor was cold under my butt and I didn't appreciate the two of them towering over me. Being handcuffed was a much different sensation than what happened two years ago, but it still made the back of my mind flutter with the beginnings of a panic attack. That pissed me off. Royally. _And here we were starting to like them. You will break their legs for this. I deserve to feel their bones snap. I don't like those memories, Amy._ My other half seethed.

 _Oh, fantastic, you are separating us again. Just what was missing. And didn't you say they look like greek gods?_

 _Yeah, well, they look a lot less godly from this angle._

 _If you can't be helpful, shut the bloody hell up._

"Can't think of one either, can you, princess?" Dean.

 _That is quite enough of that._ "You think being born rich and privileged spared me tragedy? Fuck you both, Winchesters. Look at the chain around my neck. Look damn you!" I snapped when they hesitated. Dean pulled out the thin gold chain, careful to touch me as little as possible. Then stared at what was on it. "Those were my and my husband's wedding rings and the ring he gave me when he proposed." I pushed away the memory of his proposal, the remembered happiness a sharp knife in my soul. "We were trying to have a baby. Hell, I was planning to become a permanent voice for the hunters in the board, because I didn't think having hunter parents is a good way for a kid to grow up, my husband planned to retire, become what Bobby Singer was for you, for some of his friends. A way for us to help without breaking the Letter's laws.

"We were attacked." My voice broke and I looked away from them. Dean's granite face, Sam's too sympathetic one. I bit my lip then went on. Even I could hear the coldness seeping into my voice with every word, and knew the other half of me had taken over for a little while. I was just grateful George wasn't here to witness this little horror show. "We were attacked. Aracne. Big fucking spider with a mean streak a mile wide. Trussed me up in a net, shattered my hip, then she bit me and I couldn't move anymore. I've been claustrophobic my whole life, by that point I was already panicking. Then that goddamn bitch made me watch while she broke my husband. Took her time. Said endorphins and adrenaline would spice the meat. He fought. He was strong. It took almost an entire day. She enjoyed it... God, she moaned and giggled the entire time. Bragged about being a foodie. Then she started to eat him.

"By that point whatever she had pumped into me had lost its effect, but I was broken too. I had stopped screaming long before Cal. I had to wait until she was done eating my husband, I had watched her shatter my life into shards that cut my soul in two. I was... I don't know. Crazy is probably the simplest way to explain. When she cut me down to start on me I pinned her to the floor with a spell and skinned her alive. I enjoyed hearing her screams just as much as she enjoyed listening to my husband's and my own. I don't remember much after that. I know my brother found me two days later, covered in blood and ichor, cradling what was left of my husband's body, and that I tried to kill him for trying to take Cal's body from me."

I was ashamed of that memory, of the knife sinking in my brother's calf to bring him down to the floor, of George having to defend himself against me, and I used that shame to drive the more broken, more savage part of me, back to her corner. "It took me a while to come back, but what came out on the other side was no longer the woman who was planning to become a stay at home mom. Took me a bloody long time to take back control from the other me inside and then level her so the shrink wouldn't deem my bipolarity dangerous anymore" I snapped my eyes back up to theirs, pinning them. There was so much rage inside me. I had forgotten that the other voice in my head was born of that rage, and that she swam quite happily in it. That she didn't give two shits about things like fitting in, or surviving our next killing spree. "So, now you know. You know why I care about hunters. Because I can't fucking stand that my husband died and in fifty years nobody will remember his name. It drives me nuts, as you americans are so fond of saying. In fact, we're all bloody lucky I bothered to learn how to control myself or I'd be ripping out your throats right now, just for tying me up and making me remember, no fucks given about the fact that I actually respect or need you two knuckleheads."

While Sam looked ready to free me and apologize, Dean's face was still and cold, but there was something I couldn't quite place, in his eyes, not pity or compassion, but something harsher, that made me wonder if bearing the Mark and the connection to Amara had left part of him as broken and pitiless as the other half of me. It would fit with the Letters' assessment of his personality. The next question made me almost certain that I had won his respect, if nothing else: "You are cuffed to a metal pipe, even if you were not in control, you'd have to get out."

I smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made monsters wet their pants "Keeping a Letter put takes a bit more effort than handcuffs." I lowered my arms and handed Sam the small piece of metal while I got up, hiding the limp. "Useful, isn't it? Now, could one of you go untie my brother? We were planning to pretend to be powerless but it looks like I ruined it."

 **Hi guys, this chapter was hard to write for me, but it has been coming since the first few words, so here you go. I hope you had fun... and that it made you cringe a little bit, because that was the intention. I promise Chapter Three will be lighter! Kisses all around!**


	6. C3 p1: George

**Hi everyone! This chapter will be a bit more domestic and a lot lighter! I hope you enjoy!**

Apparently George wasn't happy. "Amy, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I improvised." I replied, cool as a cucumber, with a perfectly innocent expression calculated to drive him up the nearest wall.

"You improvised! Those two gorillas came in here, with you tossed over Samuel's shoulder like a sack of flour, knocked me unconscious and thought it a jolly good idea to dump a bucket of holy water on me to wake me up once they had me tied up!"

"You not being a demon, why is that a problem?"

"There were books, Amelia! Books! Records! They could have been ruined!"

 _Can we kick him? Just a shin, maybe? We both know it's the quickest way to snap him out of it._ "Were they ruined?"

"We are very lucky that they weren't. Those records are precious! The Men of Letters of this chapter are all dead, Amelia! Those are all we have left of our american brothers! And these two baboons pretending to be Legacies endangered them!"

I massaged my eyes. George was a little… high-strung, sometimes. "Georgie, will you be quiet about the books? I don't care about them. Are you okay?"

That snapped him out of his rant. "I am, thank you. Are you okay, Amy? How's your hip?"

"It's fine, Georgie, you don't need to worry." It wasn't, actually. It hurt like hell, but I would pretend it was perfectly alright if it killed me, in front of my brother and the Winchesters. Sam and Dean because right now I was furious at them and didn't want to show weakness, and my brother because he would hover and nag at me for days if I admitted to feeling poorly. _And tell on us to Father._

 _Precisely. And Dad will fly out and take over just to make sure we rest._ My doctors had all said the same thing: part of the pelvis, the hip and part of the femur had been shattered. They had to put in prosthetics, the best my dad's money could buy, but I would always live with the pain as the muscle and nerves around it would always bear the scars, that could not be helped. Resting didn't help, it just made the leg weaker. The bitch of it was that it hurt if I sat for too long, or if I laid down for too long, or if I stood for too long. Lately I had been going off alone a lot, because at least then I could take a couple of painkillers and get drunk without worrying anyone.

 _And we look so good naked, too. Not that we gave anyone occasion to see it._

 _You just thank God we never sold the London flat or Mother and Father would have dragged us back to the mansion. Then we not only wouldn't have had sex, we would have had to murder our parents._

"Are you sure you are fine? You look a bit pinched." Living with my brother for the last two months had been a nightmare: he saw entirely too much. And the next six would not be much better. Fortunately, once we landed in Rome, his studies would take up all of his time.

"I'm just irritated." I waved away his concerns and I turned to the two 'baboons'. "I supposed you had time to interrogate him to your satisfaction?" I had seen the time and it was after four in the morning. I had been out for almost six hours. I wasn't tired, or better, I was but I wasn't planning to sleep anytime soon, but my brother was. He wasn't a hunter. When they both nodded, I sent him to get his stuff out of our car and told him to pick a room. Of course, of course, he protested that he could very well wait for me and that I should get some sleep too. "I slept in this morning, don't worry, George, go to bed. We both know you'll be up at the crack of dawn cataloguing every single piece of paper in the bunker."

Sam and Dean shot me a look that clearly stated I was lying and they knew, but the important part was that George didn't know. He confirmed it a split second later: "Well, you know that's my only job until they decide to accept." He looked at the Winchesters while saying that, displaying some of his manners by not speaking anymore as if they weren't in the room. Then nodded at the boys and told them: "I'm going to see you all in the morning and I hope we'll find some common ground to build a working relationship on."

As soon as he was out of the room, Sam muttered something about George having more of a stiff upper lip than I did. If I hadn't been kind of mad at them myself I might have joked about my brother's quirks, but as it was i just said: "Forgive him, some kids dream about getting a letter from Hogwarts, my brother dreamed about the day he would get his hands on the Letters' Library. He'll have forgiven you by morning."

I left the Winchesters to their research, which could take a while considering Men of Letters rarely leave their addresses lying around, and picked my way to the kitchen. I had a few painkiller's pills hidden in my bra, and I needed some non poisonous food to eat before I swallowed those.

The fridge was worse than I remembered it being during my previous visit: stale mexican food, leftover pizza, a half-eaten burger that'd grown mold, enough toast bread to feed a small army, a box of nice cheese and cold cuts hidden in the back, and beer. The freezer's contents could be summed up with one word: meat. I wanted a bloody apple, not a burger. I rooted around the cabinets until I found a box of Lucky Charms and a packet of UHT milk. Enough sugar in there to give me diabetes, but no matter. _You need to go grocery shopping in the morning, before they poison us._

 _And do some cooking before we decide to poison them._

There was that. It only took a few seconds to get the painkillers from the little pocket in my bra where you are supposed to put the extra padding. I had practice. I ate a couple of spoons of cereals, swallowed the pills with water from the kitchen sink, and returned to the library to eat the rest sitting down.

I sat in front of the men, chewing while observing them research. I said nothing and they ignored me, save for looking at me every few minutes, checking what I was doing, not trusting me yet. They weren't self conscious about me looking at them, just kept going though the files. One of them read one document and pushed it away, or toward the other one. They had method, then again, most hunters had it.

Dean used both hands to roughly massage his head and neck, Sam shoved only one into the mop he called a haircut and held it there, keeping the long strands back. One of them got up, every so often, and cleared away some of the mess of papers on the table, just settling it in neater piles on another desk, but I could tell that they had a system that would allow them to put the books and files back where they belonged, not disrupting the filing. George would approve.

At some point Sam got up and came back a few minutes later with three cups of coffee. Dean glanced up long enough to give his brother a look that said clearly enough "Don't encourage her", got up himself and came back with the stale Mexican food I had seen earlier in the fridge, set a healthy looking sandwich in front of his brother, and started munching, careful not to spill anything on the papers in front of him. I noticed he didn't offer me anything. I guess I knew who the good cop was going to be. That, or Samuel pitied me, while Dean didn't give a crap. _Don't know about you, but I prefer to think they are playing good cop and bad cop._

 _Yes, me too. Now stop talking about us as if we are different people. We aren't._

 _No, we aren't, but we are not the same either. You won't let us be the same._

 _Because the last time we were the same, we went on a killing spree that lasted a week. We butchered those vampires. And we didn't stop._

 _Oh, it was just a bit of fun, you party-pooper._

 _Shut up. Just… Shut up._ I must have made a face because Dean asked: "What is it?"

"My leg is cramping. I'm going to bed." I deadpanned, then followed suit, leaving my coffee untouched.

 _Hell of a night, isn't it?_

 **I wanted to thank everyone fore the favorites and the review! Lots of Love!**


	7. C3 p2: Food Mellows

Thanks to the painkillers, I actually got a few hours of sleep.

Not nightmare free, but one can't have everything.

I woke around nine, got up, stretched away some of the pain in my hip and went in the library to find Sam still poring over some record. _And keeping watch for the intruders, probably._ He looked up and told me: "Dean's in bed, there is coffee and some food in the kitchen."

That made me laugh. "No, thank you. What you call food, I call natural selection. I'm going grocery shopping. You look like you could use some sleep."

"Yeah, I'm going to wake Dean up in about an hour."

"Whatever. I'm taking my brother's car, In case he wakes up tell him I'll be back in time to make some lunch, would you?"

He gave a breathy half laugh, showing those deep dimples of his, then said: "That's awfully domestic of you."

"Yeah, well, I would like to survive your pantry, and cooking relaxes me. Any preferences?"

"What, you're cooking for us too?" He looked surprised. Hell, hunter kids.

I arched an eyebrow. "I might as well. So? Meat, chicken or fish?"

"Anything is fine, really. Thank you."

I might as well be tossing a steak in front of a pair of starving puppies. They would love me forever. Hunters with children generally forgot the 101 of nurturing their kids. Damn if Cal hadn't looked surprised every time dinner wasn't a bag of chips and fried fish, served already cold.

I came back about an hour later and found Dean sitting in his brother's spot, he looked up when I came in and looked curiously at the bags in my hands. I could see him swallowing the need to come help me carry them But I also could see him reminding himself I wasn't to be trusted. I snorted, an habit that got me into trouble often enough as a kid. "You know, if you come in the kitchen and help me with lunch you can satisfy your curiosity and make sure I don't poison you and Sam."

"If you want some help, you can just ask for it." His tone was challenging as if he didn't believe I would willingly ask for help.

"Do I look like a man to you? If you want to help I'd love the company, but if you don't want to help stay here and I'll call you when lunch is ready. Has my brother emerged or is he still snoring?" The last part I asked while walking away. I heard him get up to follow, so he wouldn't have to shout after me. Big men, the good ones, don't like to look more threatening to small women. And lo and behold, Dean Winchester followed me into the kitchen so he wouldn't have to be scary to me.

"He got up, bitched you had gone out without telling him, and went into the records room."

"Good enough. He will appear when he starts to smell food. You prefer to make the veggies or the meat?"

"Meat" I never had any doubts. But damn if he wouldn't eat his vegetables and ask for seconds, too. I rooted around the freezer for the big slab of dead cow I had seen last night, and handed him the seasoning and the pot I bought, and told him how to cook it properly. No grilling everything in sight when I was in the kitchen.

I cleaned and sliced the pumpkin and the zucchini, Dean rubbed the spices on the meat and looked at me suspiciously while I set the vegetables on a pan, adding the grated bread, spices and garlic to make them a little tastier, then popped them in the oven.

I started making the veggie sauce for the pasta, adding enough fresh chilly peppers to singe their mouths, then set the water to boil and checked how the meat was coming along. He had followed my instructions, and was taking care to move it a little so it didn't burn. He kept checking what I added to the food but he gradually relaxed. Neither of us was talking but by the time the sauce was ready the silence was comfortable.

I turned off the burner, checked the veggies in the oven (I had made enough to feed eight people, but whatever, if there were leftovers they would be just as good tomorrow), the considered how much past to cook. "Are you going to wake Samuel up for lunch or do you prefer to let him sleep longer?"

"I'll go wake him up."

"Great." I dumped the whole packet of pasta in the water and told him to make sure nothing burned while I went to get both of our brothers.

I found my brother in the records room, sitting on the floor and looking like he had rolled around in every single cobweb in the bunker. Sometimes I wondered when our five years age gap had turned in a thirty years one. (We have a picture of him looking just like that when he was three.) "That's so cute I don't have words, G, but you need to go wash up before lunch. I already tossed the pasta, so move it."

"You do realize I am a grown man, Amy, don't you?" He groused, but then smiled and did as he was told, stroking my shoulder as he passed me. I had noticed him doing that more and more often in the past year, as if he needed reassurance that I was safe. While we walked back he asked: "Have you told them?"

"No, not yet, they can't know until we are in Rome, with witnesses."

"Why, Amy? Why does it matter so much that they don't know and everyone knows they don't?"

"Because. I'm not ready to tell you, not yet, but I need them in the dark for now. I can't have them accept because they want that."

He sighed, smoothed down his hair, then muttered "You used to tell me everything. What did I do that you don't trust me anymore, Amy?"

Putting my hand on his cheek, rough with stubble, was automatic. He brought his own up to hold my hand there, the gesture so familiar something inside me went soft and warm. "I trust you, Georgie, I always will. I just don't trust everyone you do, you always believe the best of everyone"

"You did, too, before..." He broke off and lowered his eyes, feeling guilty for reminding me, not knowing I never forgot my husband, not even for a second.

"Before Cal died I was happy and stupid enough not to care about anything else" I took a deep breath to swallow a sob, my defenses always at their lowest around George. "Now I have nothing but you and the job to care about, in that order. I'm not going to risk either."

He let go of my hand and pulled me in a hug. "I know I drive you crazy, with my worrying, Amy, I just... I want you happy again." He didn't wait for me to say anything else, but slipped in the room he had chosen. If he had, I might have said that I wasn't going to be happy for a long while still, instead I went and knocked on Sam's door.

Sam was bigger than his brother, which shouldn't surprise me, but did, since I had spent the last hour around Dean, and I barely reached the eldest's shoulder. He came to the door all rumpled and with pillow lines on his face.

 _If Azazel's blood made him grow up looking like that, Amy, we should start having demons make regular blood donations to feed to newborns around the world!_

 _Shut. The bloody hell. Up._

"Hey, I just came to tell you that the food is almost ready, if you want to eat with us"

"Uh, sure, give me a minute"

"Take your time, George is washing up, we'll be in the library"

"Thanks Amy"

I waved his thanks away, then said "Now let me go check on the food before your bother burns everything"

A few minutes later I had the food on the table and smelling delicious, Dean was nursing a coffee cup, George came in dressed in slacks and a white shirt with a blue and gold tie I had bought him a few years ago, and Sam a plaid shirt and jeans that had both seen better times, but were spotless. I noticed that while Dean's clothes were rumpled, they were perfectly clean too. They had some manners.

George eyed the plate with the pumpkin, grinned and came to kiss my cheek. It was his favorite.

Lunch was quiet, with just Sam and George talking a little about what the brothers would be learning in the next few months. "Well, since there is always so much to learn, the first thing will be to teach you how to build a mind palace."

It didn't escape either my (or Dean's, judging by the looks he kept giving his brother) notice that neither Sam or George spoke as if their acceptance was in question. "What is that?"

"It's a memory technique that allows you to store memories and informations. It sounds pompous, but it's actually quite useful. I'll teach you how to create yours then you'll be assigned better teachers." _Well, would you look at that, Georgie knows how to talk to hunters._

"Better teachers?"

"I'm still in training, I'm actually lucky to have been allowed to come with Amy and to teach the Winchesters" I mentally cheered him on, because I could see Dean's ears perk up too.

"Why do you consider yourself lucky? I would have thought this would be a shitty assignment."

"No, no, being assigned to teach the Winchesters? If I wasn't Amy's brother I probably would have had to murder someone to get this job. As it is, I will have bragging rights just having met you." Dean stopped eating to look at my brother, then at me, as if he was wondering what sort of shit we smoked. Low self esteem, weird in such a man. He was gorgeous and extremely successful at his job, but he didn't think much of himself. I noticed his brother was surprised at the fan-boying, but not completely weirded out. I stored the information away. I was compiling a puzzle of their personalities in my head, and every little piece was interesting.

"What? Why?"

"Every bunker has a copy or a file of the Winchesters' Gospel. It's like an how to guide on the supernatural. Everybody knows your names. Meeting you is like… like meeting the Queen."

"Seriously?" Dean's question was probably rhetorical, but I answered anyway. "Yep."

"Those damn books." I laughed.

After that the lunch was mostly silent, but not awkwardly so.

Did they eat their greens? Yes, they did, and they asked for seconds, too.

 **A.N.: Hey guys, I hope you are enjoying this fic, reviews and comments are always appreciated! Lots of love!**


	8. C4 p1: Pains

The next afternoon I was doing yoga in the library while my brother tried to teach the Winchesters how to meditate, the first step in building a mind palace.

I had figured out that yoga helped my hip much more than the normal physiotherapy, keeping my muscles relaxed, flexible and strong. But God, it hurt like hell fire was crawling all over my left side. I changed position, listening to Dean's curses and George's soft voice.

Apparently Dean didn't enjoy sitting still and thinking deep thoughts.

My hip protested the new position violently enough that I moaned.

 _Crap_.

A second later my brother was helping me up. "Are you okay? You shouldn't push yourself so hard! You'll end up re-injuring yourself like this."

"Shut up, Georgie." I groused. "I'm fine, it's already stopped hurting."

"No, it's not. You're pale as a ghost. Sit down, Amelia."

I huffed, but I let him drag me to a chair. "Fine. Now quit hovering. You're not my bloody nurse."

And he ignored me. Of course. "Where are your meds?"

"Stop annoying me, George. I'm fine."

"The meds, Amelia."

I looked away. "I'm not taking them anymore."

"What? Why the hell have you stopped taking your meds!" I swore quietly. I really didn't want it to come out like this or to have this conversation in front of virtual strangers. When I refused to answer in the first few seconds, he snapped: "Why Amelia?"

"Fuck it. Fine. I was getting addicted to them, they made me paranoid and I didn't like them."

"That's why you're not sleeping." He swore under his breath, "What are you doing to manage the pain?"

"I take painkillers or get hammered when I need to."

"Great! Fantastic! And I suppose you got a medical license when I wasn't looking." _He sounds just like Father._

 _Shut up._ "You know the dad's voice doesn't really work, don't you?"

"Sod the dad's voice, Amelia. No. You know what? I'm going to call dad."

"You are not calling dad for a fucking cramp, George."

"Oh, yes. I am. And you will see a doctor the instant we land in Rome or so help me God, Amelia, I will have you pulled off active jobs."

"Ohhh, that's a serious threat." We both turned to our audience at that. Dean looked like he was watching a football match. Sam just looked a little pained about the situation.

"Mind your own fucking business, Dean. And George, you go near a phone to call dad and I swear to God and all his angels, I will knock you out."

"No, you won't. Now let me see your hip."

I instinctively covered the scarred side with my hand. "No."

"Amy. Let me see."

"No. I mean it. No."

"Fine!" He threw up his hands. "But you are going to a doctor. And I'm going with you."

"Fine!" I got up. "I hope you enjoy wasting both of our time. I'm going to make tea. And then dinner."

"You are cooking? Again? We can go buy some take-out."

I scowled. "I know you mean that as a kindness, Sam, but I prefer not to die of an heart attack before age thirty-five and cooking will keep me from pummeling my mother hen of a brother."

"You want some help? I already know how to meditate."

"Sure, why not." If nothing else I could keep filling in the blanks in his mindset.

I walked slowly because my bloody hip still hurt, but I had no intention of showing it. Sam kept my pace, walking just a step behind and to the left of me and I could almost feel he was ready to catch me if I stumbled, which made me so damn mad I wanted to punch him.

 _Big, strong jaw. Aim for the cheekbone._

 _Kneecap first. Topple him right down to a manageable height._ "Stop hovering, Sam. I'm not about to fall on my face. I'm fine"

"I'm not hovering and you are not fine. You're hurt. That doesn't make you weak."

"No, but the hovering makes me crazy. My family has been in mother hen mode for the last two years. It makes me feel smothered and triggers my claustrophobia. I don't appreciate it."

"They love you."

I sighed. "Of course they love me. Especially George. But the coddling makes me want to run as fast and as far as I possibly can."

He cleared his throat while I put some water on the stove for tea. "Uh, I… I wanted to ask you something." He scratched his neck and looked a little embarrassed, but came out with it when I just looked at him. "Was your brother serious, yesterday? About Dean and me?"

I raised an eyebrow. "About you being famous?"

He nodded, then said: "Look, it's not a ego trip, I just want to know what we are looking at if we accept your offer"

I smiled a little. "You know about the Supernatural books, don't you?" By his disgusted expression, it was a yes. "When they came out, the Men of Letters started looking into them. That was what, twelve, thirteen years ago. They have… I don't know, probably someone checking into every fantasy writer or something, but those books, they have too many details just right. The first one? Your first case hunting with your brother? It set off al kinds of alarm bells. But it was published six weeks before everything really happened, so they just thought Chuck was a hunter or a hunter's kid writing bad fiction to teach people how to fight monsters."

"Those books are a nightmare."

I laughed, shrugged, dropped a couple of spoons of tea leaves in the water and started stirring absently. "Then the Leviathans impersonated you and Dean, and the Letters figured out Sam and Dean Winchester were flesh and blood men, not just that, but actual hunters. The books went from being a guide on how to hunt monsters, to being prophecy and a mandatory read for everyone in the Letters. The younger generation that had read them thinking you were fictional wanted to meet you. Hell, they worship the ground you walk on, my brother would have been less excited to meet Batman."

"Why? We're just hunters." I have no idea how he did it, but this giant of a man made the cutest confused frown I ever saw.

"You saved the world how many times?" I waited for the leaves to sink to the bottom of the pot, then poured my cup. I looked at Sam in question and when he nodded I poured one for him as well. "Hunters in the Letters respect you. I was assigned to this job because my dad is very high up in the hierarchy, but half of them wanted to come with me on it. Would have been a parade." I offered him the cup and jumped on the counter to sit. "But you are not universally loved. Many of the older ones chose to focus on the fact that you started the Apocalypse and where high as a kite on demon blood, not on the fact that you dragged Lucifer back in the pit with you, sacrificing your life. Your brother's relationship with Crowley was bad enough, add in his temper and the fact that he has borne the Mark of Cain and has been a demon for a while… a lot of people think you should be imprisoned somewhere to make certain your next fuck up doesn't just blow up the world instantly."

"And what do you think?"

"I think that most of that last category are old curmudgeons who will be dead long before me. They won't influence our decisions for long. And I wouldn't have come here at all if I didn't believe you to be trustworthy. Hell, I even brought my little brother."

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you think I pushed to bring him along, instead of someone else, anyone else, more experienced and who I didn't give two shits about?"

"You were showing us trust."

"No, I was giving you a hostage. I love my brother. What Dean would do for you? I wouldn't hesitate for a second to do for George. But showing you trust is walking around you unarmed, bringing along my brother is giving you a good Goddamn guarantee that I'm trustworthy."

* * *

 **AN: Hi guys. So, someone noticed that Amy's voice was harsher in the first chapters than it is now, and asked me about it... It's true. It was a conscious choice: she's gentler around her brother, in this installment she admitted it, because she loves him and wants to protect him. When he's around she constantly shushes the other voice inside her, when he's not the two voices are more alike and as a result the narrating voice will be harder and a little colder. George's presence gentles her, but he won't always be around.**

 **I hope you enjoy the read, I look forward to reading your comments and reviews!**

 **Thank you Guest for the review, you have no idea how happy it made me!**


	9. C4 p2: Wiles

Sam was looking at me like I was crazy. "You brought along your brother to give us an hostage?"

"Yes. Never doubt I'd die for George. I've killed to keep him safe. Sell my soul? Go to hell for him? Where do I sign. Dean is in the other room with at least two knives and a gun on him. And Georgie? He's as much a civilian as Men of Letters come. He can shoot straight, I made sure of that, but he never even shot a damn fox, never mind a person. And I'm in here, unarmed, with a man that has about a hundred pounds of muscle on me. I don't think there is any doubt that I trust you are good guys. You want to know everything I could possibly tell you? Put a knife to George's throat and you might as well be treating to blow up my entire world. Proof you can trust my very word right there."

I sighed. "Even before I met you I believed you to be decent men, now? Look at yourself! Proof."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm five feet two. A few minutes ago I thought that if I wanted to punch you in the face I'd have to dislocate your dominant right knee first or I wouldn't have the reach. But look at how you are standing. You are a trained fighter. A hunter. You should be using every inch of your giant body to intimidate people. But you are slouching, knees a little bent, shoulders curled in, to look smaller, less intimidating, because I'm a woman, and a small one at that. Hell, from following you and Dean around in the last two months, and pictures I saw, you do it around everyone, not just women. Your brother, who is used to being around his taller little brother, stands to his full height all the time, but yesterday followed me in the kitchen because he didn't want to raise his voice to me." I grinned. "My dad didn't send me because he likes to put me in danger. Being a woman has advantages besides the obvious."

"You don't think we'd hurt a woman?"

"Oh, I'm sure you killed plenty of women. I'm not a threat. Why hurt me when I offer honesty, a chance at respect, a home nobody will ever take from you, money, and education in your chosen field? I'm not threatening you with world annihilation or drugs, or even just pain. Hell, the worst threat I've made was to drug you both, drag your arses out of here and destroy the bunker if you refuse to become Men of Letters."

"Why?"

"You'd have no right to it. But that's not the point. I'm a woman, a small and very clever one. I'm very well trained. I've been mentally filing away small bits of information about you and Dean for the past two months, bigger chunks for the past two days."

"And what? You've got us all figured out, Sherlock?" Dean's voice from the open door. I sipped my tea and smiled.

"Enough. But I won't play all my cards right now."

Sam asked "Why not?"

I felt the grin stretch my lips on the rim of my cup. "You won't like most of what I have to say. Anyway. Sending a woman had one advantage: womanly instincts, so to speak. It allowed me to judge very quickly if you are all brawn and no brains at all. You aren't, by the way, which was unsurprising, seeing how you saved the world, but it could have been a fluke. One never really knows. It also allowed me to evaluate personally your standard M.O." I nodded at Sam "Good cop, the sweet cute Great Dane puppy act hides a starving wolf inside" raised my cup at Dean "bad cop with anger management issues, but will play big brother to anyone who doesn't pose a threat."

"Why do I get the dog simile?" Sam sounded offended enough to make me laugh.

I drank the last of my tea. "Twice seemed redundant. Don't worry, I think of Dean as a pit bull often enough."

The oldest looked insulted. "Thanks!"

"Still a step up from the first impression"

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not." _We labeled him a caveman within a minute of meeting them, after all._ I jumped down from the counter, ignoring the slight protest of my damaged hip. "Moving on, I made it almost impossible for you not to trust me, brought my baby brother within your reach, and now you know I'm not in top form. I even told you I need you for my plans to work."

 _Was it really a good idea, telling them all of that? I want to make it clear I think it was a stupid idea._

 _Shut up. We always lose when I let you gamble, and we need these horses to win the race._

 _They'd make pretty studs, that's for sure. Notice that now you're separating us, too?_

 _Oh, just shut up, would you!_ I was sick of my brain's bullshit. The other me inside was a bitch, but she kept most of her crap for others, generally.

I busied myself pulling the lasagnes I'd made this morning out of the fridge, then went on: "It's pretty obvious that you're starting to trust me, you like my brother, you might even be starting to like me, despite my charming personality. Why bother telling yourself the opposite? Now, who's going to make the salad for dinner?"

"What?" that was a chorus. _Cute._

"I'm making the pie, which of you is going to make the salad?"

Turned out Dean didn't want to deal with the vegetables and had research to do.

* * *

 **A.N.: Short chapter this time! More coming on Monday! Hope you** **enjoyed!**


	10. C5 p1: Mail

A couple of days later the Winchesters still hadn't found anything that proved the existence of Men of Letters in Europe, Sam had apparently mastered the trick to quick meditation, while Dean had succeeded in meditating at all, which was more of a credit to my brother's teaching than Dean's ability to sit still.

In light of all of that, I was currently on the phone with Francesco Ceccarelli, the head historian of the Letters. He was chattering away in my ear about this or that piece of information, but I had stopped listening a while ago. The technicalities of keeping the European travel records straight were boring enough to me that I could tone and his heavily accented voice out quite easily.

Ceccarelli was tedious and as long winded as they came, but he was also the only one in Europe who could probably figure out if and when and American Letter had traveled to Europe or viceversa. And he could probably tell you off the top of his head what they had been doing during that trip… if he could stop talking about his beautiful grandchildren or the funny anecdote some Letter had told him fifty years before.

Right now I was cleaning my knives while he talked about said grandkids. I had been paying for an international call for the last forty-five minutes. Hopefully he would get to the point before the evening.

"And you, my dear? How are you finding Freedom Country?"

I had no idea how he had gotten to that, but fine. "Loud, gaudy… I could go on but I'll spare you. So have you found anything?"

"Oh, of course, of course! Ages ago, my dear! You should have just asked. But I imagine you are not in a hurry these days. Have our newest Legacies made a decision?"

"Not yet. You were telling me about what you found?"

"Oh, yes, naturally! You see, in the bunker over there, there should be some correspondence between an American letter… name, name, name, ah, sì, David Ackers… and my predecessor negotiating the borrowing of some documents. The deal, of course, never went through… all the bad business in the Fifties, you see, but the letters should still be there. Certain private things never get thrown away, naturally. It's very likely you'll find them in Mr. Ackers bedroom or locker."

 _Well, would you look at that. He actually wrapped it up quickly._ Forty-five minutes was a record, I was prepared to have to wait twice that. Time to be nice. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Ceccarelli. You were truly invaluable. Please give say hi to your grandbabies for me, will you? I'll make sure to come visit once I'm in Rome."

"Just right, my dear. They'll be so pleased to see you. Please tell your brother to call me when he has a bit of time, will you? I have a few volumes for him."

"I will, of course. I'll see you in a few days." Poor Georgie probably would be on the phone for ages. Or worse have to pretend interest in person for ages. The other me inside sniggered.

"Confident, I see. So you like our newest hunters?"

"Yes, they are rude and american, but they are quick, and they'll fit in nicely"

"Good, good. Well, go tell them, then, and do come visit. I'll have the wife buy your favorite pastries."

I laughed my nicest laugh, made some more noises and managed to end the conversation in a few more minutes. Thank God for that.

I was sitting at a small side table in the library, my throwing knives all sharp and polished, my brother was very busily tapping on his laptop a few feet away and Sam and Dean were nowhere to be seen. As any self-respecting older sister would do, I slipped behind George to see what he was doing. He was writing a long - and very excited judging by the sheer number of exclamation points - email to a Legacy in Athens, a sweet mouse of a girl a couple of years older than him. Cal had believed that Anthea and George had something going on, but I figured they were just very close friends, but then again, I was usually pretty oblivious to romance.

It only took me a couple of seconds to figure out he was fanboying over the Winchesters. I snorted, startling him into snapping his laptop closed, and laughed. George was twenty-four, seven years younger than me, but sometimes it seemed like he was twenty years younger. "How is Anthea?"

"She's fine. Why are you sneaking around me?"

"Appeasing my curiosity, mostly. Is she as excited as you about the Winchesters?"

He grinned, gestured me to lean closer and whispered. "She's coming to Rome for the next few months. Says she just has to work up the nerve to ask for an autograph."

That made me laugh so hard I doubled over. _Just imagine their faces…_

 _Oh, dear God, please let Anthea find the courage to ask… while I'm close enough to take pictures!_

"Speaking of, where are they?"

George, still grinning, obviously pleased to have made me laugh, told me: "Dean was buried under the Impala, last I checked. Sam is in the record room, looking at some of the Letters from the Fifties personal files. Has Ceccarelli found something?"

"Maybe. Some correspondence between his predecessor in Rome and Ackers here. He's positive the letters are still here somewhere, but I'm not as sure. It's been fifty years, he may have taken them with him when he left, maybe he destroyed them or spilled coffee on them, or hell, they could have been eaten by mice."

He frowned, thinking it over. "What were they about?"

"Borrowing books."

"Than they must be here. That kind of communication must be kept in the bunkers interested in the lending and borrowing. They must have been filed away somewhere. Or forgotten in Ackers's room, more likely, nobody is ever careful with that kind of records." His voice was very vexed, on that last part, as long suffering as any martyr "And, Amy, you know very well that this bunker will never get mice or spiders. Not in another hundred years."

I scoffed, than went in looking for Sam.

 _Here's to hoping we'll all be in Rome in a few more days._

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 **A.N.: Hi guys! More coming on Wednesday! Hope you enjoy and look forward to comments and reviews!**

 **Kisses all around.**


	11. C5 p2: Take Off

When I said the European Men of Letters were rich, I meant ridiculously so. We were talking about centuries of clever men accumulating wealth, buying properties, gold, banks. The fact that that translated to a private jet waiting for the four of us should surprise no one.

My brother had left his car in the Winchesters's bunker - _oh, God, the name is going to stick, isn't it?_ \- last night and we had traveled to the private airstrip in the Impala, which Dean had petted for most of the trip, snarling at his brother when he offered to drive. Apparently he wasn't happy about his baby being left behind. Telling him it was too big for the tiny Italian streets had just made the snarling worse.

I was stretching my back and legs in the sun while the flight crew prepared for the take off, Sam and George were chatting animatedly about some American Lore my brother was planning to write about, and Dean was scolding the boy who had been assigned the thankless task of taking care of his car for the next few months. "And not a scratch!" Was the end of the tirade, while he reluctantly gave up the keys. The boy scuttled away so fast he almost left a vapor trail.

I refrained from laughing through a sheer effort of will. The airstrip personnel was used to the weird requests from the rich and eccentric people who used it, but apparently a irritable Dean Winchesters was scarier than most. He had been a bear with a thorn in his paw since his brother had burst in the library, two days ago, with the letters Ackers had received from Rome.

He alternated between looking at the jet with a disgusted expression and the garage with longing. I could almost hear him thinking that he wanted to drive his car to Europe.

 _The plane trip is going to be so much fun._ And yes, that was sarcasm.

 _Oh, come on, the comic relief alone..._

The pilot signaled us it was time to leave.

The interior of the small plane was gorgeous, pale leather and dark wood polished the point it looked soft, blood red carpet on the floor, crystal bottles glinting in the side tables.

George collapsed in one of the seats, poured half a glass of brandy, and held it up to Dean as he passed, just as I was about to comment on his sudden need for alcohol. I just shook my head and laughed, getting a grin from Sam and a threatening look from Dean.

"It won't be so bad"

"We are going to be stuck in a flying death trap, a few thousand feet in the air, over the ocean."

"Statistically it's the safest way to travel" that was Sam.

"There is enough alcohol in here to make sure you pass out." I added.

"Screw this, isn't there a boat we can take?"

"No. We'll stop in Lisbon in nine hours to refuel and be in Rome a couple of hours after that. That's twelve hours, you can survive."

Georgie laughed, then said: "Harsh, Amy, very harsh. You held my hand through my first flight."

"You were twelve and had just declared you didn't want to die a virgin, I'm not taking pity on bloody Dean Winchester" That shut him up, and got Dean to bark out a surprised laugh.

"Shit man, nobody told you not to tell a woman stuff like that? They remember."

"She's my older sister, I was misguided. And she forgets I have enough blackmail material to get revenge whenever I want." Was George's answer, chin in the air and enough snobbery dripping from every word to make our mother proud.

"If we're going to have to spend the better part of the next months together, they probably should know that I'm mean"

"Amelia, if they aren't dumber than rocks, they probably figured that out within minutes of meeting you." Then he looked at the two hunters and asked if they had seen my nice girl smile. When they nodded he told them: "Don't let that smile trick you into believing she's harmless. There are seven rows of teeth behind it"

"Now, that's just mean, I'm not a shark."

"Yes you are."

"I am not" I repeated, childishly, making Sam laugh a little.

"You most certainly are. How's the hip?"

"Shut the bloody hell up." I retorted without heat, this time making all three men laugh, and toeing off my boots and socks. I inspected the deep shade of green painted on my toenails critically, putting my feet on the seat in front of me. Finding no chipping, I decided it was still passable.

A cute hostess in a black and white uniform came to tell us all the usual informations about safety in flight, asked if we wanted some hot drinks or a snack, then disappeared back in the cockpit after winking at George. Well, look at that, my nerdy brother had an admirer. _I'm so proud._

I had planned to meditate for a while during the flight, to stave off the need for sleep while I wasn't alone. I had no plans of waking up screaming while my baby brother was around to worry. _Definitely no need for that._ Dean clutched the armrests of his seat throughout the entire takeoff and looked ready to whiteknuckle it to Rome, so I decided to take some pity on the leather and distract him. _Definitely no need. Plus he's gorgeous, he can distract us any time._

 _We are not going there. We agreed. Professional is the operative word._

 _Professional sucks. We need sex._

 _Shut up._

 _Oh, come on, at some point we will have to move on._

 _Not going to happen. Especially not with Mr. Manwhore over there._

 _You say "manwhore", I hear "deliciously experienced"._

 _Shut the bloody hell up. And stay shut up._

"Dean?"

He opened his eyes just long enough to bark "What."

Not really an invitation to talk, but lucky for me I wasn't made of spun sugar. I got up and knelt on the floor in front of him. "You are about to break the seat. It's pretty and expensive and nobody wants holes in it. So, we can do it one of two ways: you can either meditate with me, or I can give you the stuff I use when my hip is killing me and you wake up in eight hours as we are about to land." I lightly slapped his knee, and told him to come sit with me on the floor.

Obviously quite reluctant to let go of the safety of the seat and belt, he did as I asked.

My body assumed the familiar position, legs bent but not one over the other, back straight, shoulders relaxed. What had been just a useful memory trick, had become a second nature since Cal's death. Meditation and yoga had truly helped.

Once Dean was settled, I offered him my hands. Men of Letters had long used small spells, like the tattoo just below the bend of my elbow, to share memories, energy and soul power. They were, after all, the same thing: bits and pieces of our souls. He hesitated for a few seconds, then put big, calloused hands in mine, and the spell ignited, connecting us.

* * *

 **A.N.: Hi everyone! Chapter 6 will be coming Monday, it will be longer than usual and all in one installment (my way of begging forgiveness for the delay) because we are switching ADSL company and I'll be internet-less for a few days. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy this one! Reviews and Follows make me very happy!**

 **Kisses all around!**


	12. Chapter 6: Mind Meld

**Hi everyone! I want to thank everyone for the Favorites and Reviews. Thank you for finding time to read the weirdness I produce!**

 **I will probably make this a weekly thing, because chapters 7 and 8 are giving me fits, firmly refusing to work with me: they are written, and they are coming up, but I'm picky about OOC.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is even weirder than usual!**

* * *

The rest of the world became white noise.

George's and Sam's voices buzzing far in the background. The plane vibrations disappearing to nothingness. Our heartbeats loud as drums.

Mind to mind contact was the quickest, easiest way to teach someone how to build a mind palace. It could also be used to share memories stored in it and to calm one of the minds in it.

I let the silence stretch between us, allowing Dean's heartbeat sync to mine, becoming slower. Slower. Finally sliding in the regular slow beat of meditation.

I forced my mind into a soft assurance, letting it seep in Dean's. His phobia was snuffed out by my calm. I had made the spell a permanent tattoo after Cal's death, because it made it easier to connect my mind to my psychologist's, Doctor Tanner's mind as placid as a sunny day on a lake.

It was a strange way of perceiving oneself, because all the troubles that plagued only one of the minds fell away, leaving only the common ones, but not making you forget.

"What are you doing?" even his mental voice was suspicious, suddenly trying to put up shields. That was the weird bit: the lines were blurred, but you still were very much yourself.

"Calm. Not hurting you, am I?"

"No, but this is uncomfortable."

"Strange, but not uncomfortable." The connection between us felt sticky, drawing us closer and closer, even while instinct made you want to pull back, shove the other consciousness away.

"Freaky" he corrected.

"Freaky works." I let him feel my amusement. "Now, we can just sit here, quietly, you taking in my calm, and me enjoying the time without my hip trying it's level best to kill me, or we can use the next few hours to get you started on building a mind palace. To go in a private meditation you just have to let go of my hands. It's your choice."

"How are you doing this? Your brother never mind-melded or whatever."

"It's called mind to mind connection, and George could not do this because he hasn't finished his studies, yet. As for how, it's the tattoo in my inner arm."

"Could this be used to hurt someone?" I felt his protectiveness toward his brother.

"No, the connection breaks if one of the participants means harm to the other."

"Why?"

"No idea, George is the one with the scientific answers. I just know it works like that."

"Fine. So how do I build this mind palace." he grumbled even like this. He resented having to ask, but not enough to stay ignorant.

"First thing, stow the grumpiness and I'll try not to feel threatened by your accomplishments."

"What accomplishments?"

"You are probably the best hunter in the world. I'm very good, but I can't boast anything close."

"Dumb luck, mostly"

"You are forgetting I read the books."

"Goddamn books."

"They are actually quite fun."

"They are terrible. And embarrassing."

"Why? Men of Letters will read them for centuries to come."

"Exactly. I could have lived without a bunch of people reading about some of the things in there."

"You mean the sex?"

"Can we please change the subject."

"Oh, come on, Dean, you can't expect me to have skipped those parts."

"I can pretend that you did."

"I even read some fan fiction."

"You did not. And you mention the Wincest thing and I swear I'm punching you. You can take it."

"Nah, I have a brother. That's just weird."

"Good. Now can we please, please change subject?"

"Yes. But no grumpiness, you wanker, or I'll tell you all about how I fangirled when I realized you and Sam were actual flesh and blood men."

"No grumpiness. Now teach."

"Fine. Picture your car. Picture sitting alone in the driver's seat, in as much detail as you can muster. The rumble of the engine. The steering wheel in your hands. The scent of leather and family. Your favorite song on the radio." I let my mind voice go soft, lulling. "You know that car like the back of your hand, so picture every crack in the leather, even scratch in the dash, every little sound and rattle. When you have it, invite me in."

I felt him sink in the picture, concentrating in the deep, gentle way of meditation, and I gave him as much time as he needed. In the meantime I amused myself with the sensations coming from him. I could feel the tingle of his anti-demon tattoo and a warm sensation, like sunshine on his skin, on his left shoulder and it took me a few seconds to figure out that it was the scar Castiel had left on him when he brought Dean back from Hell, and that it probably always felt warm to him. I wondered if he knew the scar was soul deep and that it tied him to the Angel. I was rabidly curious about it, there was enough Woman of Letters in me to make me want to poke at that connection, pull on that thread until I found the Angel on the other end, but I refrained: it wasn't safe to poke at angels and it wasn't the time.

When I finally perceived the pull of his mind trying to coax mine, I followed him, and suddenly found myself in the Impala. After spending all of yesterday on it, it felt familiar to me too, but I wouldn't be able to distinguish it from any other '67 Impala, like I could bet he would.

The radio was blasting out "Cherry Pie". I snorted at that and felt his irritation before he actually frowned at me. Then he kind of kept staring at me with this shocked expression and I looked down at myself. I was in his mind, so I looked like he pictured me. Turns out, I looked like a prostitute.

"Dear God above, Winchester, really? Could you please give me something that covers more than the bare essentials?"

"Son of a bitch." He had not stopped staring even though he was embarrassed. "It's not really my fault!"

"Kindly explain how it could possibly be mine"

"I'm not the one who's been twisting in weird yoga positions in front of me for the past week!"

I gave him a look that should have incinerated him, if such a thing was possible. "Give me clothes, Winchester, or I swear to God I'm putting a statue of you in a loincloth front and center in my mind palace."

He closed his eyes, completely unnecessary since we were inside his mind, and a few seconds later I had on jeans and a t-shirt. "Thank you"

He avoided looking at me for a few seconds.

"That was embarrassing"

"That it was" I looked away, too, then refocused on the task at hand. "Allright, back to business. Drive us to someplace you know perfectly well, some place you love. It doesn't matter if it still exists or if it has been destroyed. It doesn't even have to be a building. Just a place you feel comfortable being. Meanwhile I'll anchor the car as your starting point. When you want to access your mind palace, you just have to picture the Impala, like you did a few minutes ago."

"So I always start in the same place? Like a videogame?"

"Yes. Exactly."

A few seconds later we were in a car junkyard.

I recognized it from a few pictures I'd seen both in the bunker and in the files I'd been given when I'd accepted this job.

Bobby Singer had lived here.

In the real world, Singer Auto Salvage was abandoned, the house destroyed, the cars rusting hidden by dried out grass as tall as I am, but in Dean's reconstruction, it looked... Alive. Not well kept or carefully repaired, not by any means, but in the state an old, single man might keep it. I could feel his affection for this place through our connection, the same way that, if I concentrated, I could still feel hard, warm hands on mine. Both feelings were distant, mine and not mine at the same time.

I found it interesting that he hadn't thought of his childhood home, but I didn't comment, and pulled a tiny thread of my soul power to anchor the yard in Dean's consciousness.

Using your soul like an engine could be dangerous, but doing this required very little power, because it was a temporary measure: in a few days, Dean mind would subconsciously integrate this pathway, making it permanent, and my anchor would dissolve. Which was lucky, considering the mind to mind connection was sapping most of my energy.

Building a mind palace on your own could take years of forced focus, this way it only took a few hours and the help of a friend.

When he parked the Impala in front of the mechanic station, I knew it was time to leave him alone. His face had softened in a way that spoke of longing for a man that had been a second - and in my opinion, better - father, to him. He was a proud man, and a strong one, and I knew that he wouldn't feel free to explore and feel his way through the house with me hovering, and he needed to. A mind palace should be anchored in strong feelings and filled with memories, and he wouldn't let himself do that if I was around to watch. So I told him "Go explore, visualize the memories you have of this place and of Bobby Singer in as much detail as you can", squeezed his hands in the real world, and let go, cutting the tie that had bound is together for the past few hours.

I opened my eyes in the real world, climbed to my feet and looked for a way to figure out how much of the flight was left. My brother was meditating, probably deep in his own mind palace, and Sam was asleep, his computer in his lap. Not wanting to bother either of them I went looking for the hostess.

Her name was Ingrid and, while I knew she was originally from Oslo, she rarely went back there. She knew of the Men of Letters since she had been saved from a demonic possession a few years ago, and had happily agreed to work for them when the offer had been made. After all, we paid a lot better than Lufthansa, allowed for more destinations and more free time and the job came with nice bonuses such as protection from demons and other weird creatures, training self defense and a fabulous dental plan.

"Can I help you, Lady Seymour?" She asked, a nice, genuine smile on her face. I had always liked her and often went out of my way to make sure she was part of the crew when I had to take the jet.

"Please, Ingrid, call me Amy, Lady Seymour makes me feel very old"

"Ancient" she quipped, her bubbly personality emerging, "but I'll still be polite during work hours and use your title. Now, how can I be of help?" That made me like her even better: she had spine. I grinned at her.

"I was wondering how long we've been in the air and if I could have something to eat"

"Of course. We took off about six hours ago, both Lord Seymour and the younger Mr Winchester have had lunch and I'll be serving them dinner in about an hour. Would you prefer to eat a full meal now, or just a appetizer, maybe, and wait to eat with them?"

"The appetizer, I'll wait" She waved me back to my place, saying she would bring me a plate ad a nice glass of wine.

While I waited I entered my mind palace and added the new information I had to the oldest Winchester's file. While I was tempted to create some naked statuary, I instead reproduced a framed picture of Bobby Singer and the two Winchesters I had seen in the bunker and linked my private files on them to it, then tucked it on a shelf, just in time for Ingrid to bring me the food.

Dean was still in deep meditation, and Sam was frowning in his sleep, as if he had to concentrate to hold on to the dreamworld, but George had woken up by then. "So, how did it go? Did you start Dean on his mind palace?" he asked, barely waiting for me to have eaten the first bite.

"Yes, he has a good place to start, and a lot of things to process to anchor it fully."

"Will you do the same for Sam, or will you let someone else help him?"

I took a sip of the Prosecco Ingrid had brought with my food, finding that the sharpness of bubbly white wine perfectly complemented the cheese and olives in the appetizer, then answered: "I'll anchor Sam's mind palace too, but right now I'm exhausted. I'll be all recharged in a couple of days. Actually, I meant to ask you to partecipate. You'll have take the test for the Fifth Level in… august right? This could be a useful experience. I'm sorry, I didn't think to offer earlier."

He smiled and waved away my apologies. "I'd be happy to partecipate! It will be so interesting!"

"What will be?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of the plane.

* * *

 **So, weirder than usual. This chapter didn't go the way I planned it, and everyone just sort of did their own thing. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!**

 **See you next Wednesday, hopefully with something better XD**


	13. Chapter 7: Chitchat

**Hi everyone, so... this sucks, I know, but it just didn't want to flow any better than this. See you next week and thank you all for the reviews!**

* * *

"What would be interesting?"

"Welcome back to the living, Sam. I just helped your brother put down the first few blocks of his mind palace and would like to do the same for you. I was telling George, that, if you agree, of course, it would be a very useful experience for him to participate"

He frowned a little, smoothing down his hair. I noticed he had to bend down just a little to do that without banging his head on the ceiling of the jet. "What does it entail? Helping me build a mind palace?"

I went to answer, hesitated, then said: "I would prefer you asked your brother and talked to him first"

"Why?" More suspicion, but also a dose of curiosity. Dean would always be like me, trigger-happy and irritable when cooped up too long, but Sam would make a great Man of Letters, one day, when he got tired of living a hunter's life.

"Because you will trust his impressions, without them being clouded by mine. Talk to him, the me and George will explain the technicalities to you"

Sam looked toward Dean, still lost in his mind palace, sitting with his back to one of the seats, his legs now slipped in a more comfortable position, head thrown back against the armrest. "Is Dean okay?"

"Yes, he's meditating, probably walking around in his brand new mind palace. It's good. The more time he spends there, the fastest it will be a permanent pathway in his thinking... And the less time he'll spend panicking over the plane ride: I used a spell to calm his mind enough to make him meditate, it will not last once he comes out of it."

"It's been more than six hours."

I shrugged. "I've only just emerged, and to me it felt like half an hour at the most" I explained, then looked at George for confirmation.

"It's normal, Sam. The first few times always take a lot of time: your brain is creating an image that feels tangible to itself, tricking your entire nervous system into believing that image is real, then processing the information it receives from that image and elaborating memories, feelings and thoughts... In time it becomes a faster process."

Sam nodded and came to sit with us.

We spent the next two hours in easy conversation, eating the seared salmon Ingrid brought for us and drinking the aromatic white wine. Sam every once in a while got up and went to check on Dean, taking his pulse or measuring his breathing.

When the older Winchester finally stirred, Sam and George were nursing beers and chatting about sports while I was caffeinating and reading a novel on my tablet.

Dean woke up. For a couple of seconds he moved slowly, the languid movement of people who emerge from aNo long sleep, then he jumped to his feet, startled, probably by the movement of the plane, then he realized where he was and cursed.

Sam got up and went to sit with him. I winked in their general direction, then lowered my eyes back to my tablet and pretended to keep reading, but I was very interested in their conversation. They kept their voices low and quiet but one of the perks or being trained by the men of letters were improved senses. I wasn't going to need glasses anytime soon, hearing problems were not in my future.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm on a fucking plane, Sam. No, I'm not fine."

I could almost feel Sam glaring at his older brother. "I mean, she didn't hurt you? You went out like a light as soon as she touched you."

"No, she didn't hurt me. But it was freaking weird, man"

"How weird?"

"Weird as in, there is a copy of Bobby's house in my head. Not just a picture, an actual house"

"How?"

"I have no idea. And it's weird. I can feel it, man... It's... Weird. Just fucking weird"

"But you are fine. No spells, no strange feelings or sensations...?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, Sammy. She says she has this tattoo that connected our minds or whatever, but the spell breaks if one of us wanted to hurt the other"

"And you just believed her, Dean? Since when do you trust anyone!?"

"Look, I could... feel she was being honest. Like I can feel this damn thing moving." I could almost hear him swallowing hard. "It was… fuck, man, I don't know. It felt like I was in her skin and her in mine. I… know where she has scars or tattoos and I could feel that she was itching to poke at the handprint on my shoulder… and that she knows something about it."

"What?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask, Sam. I was more focused on the fact that she was in my fucking head rearranging the furniture!"

You could hear the concerned frown in Sam's voice. "What did it feel like?"

Dean hesitated. I knew what it felt like: private, intimate. It didn't matter that you knew the person who helped you build your mind palace since the day you were born or had never met them before, it still felt like for a little bit they became a fundamental part of you, and sharing it beyond the general details didn't feel right. When he finally spoke, his words didn't surprise me. "It felt like we were… one. I felt like there wasn't any need to keep anything private because we were so damn close that… damn I don't know. It felt closer than carrying Benny's soul out of purgatory inside my skin."

"Possesion?"

"No. I was in control of my body and my mind."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I tried to push her out right at the beginning and I could have."

"Hundred percent?"

"Yes, Sammy. She didn't hurt me. Now can you can the twenty questions?"

"No. I was worried, Dean! You were out of it for more than seven hours! We're almost in Lisbon!"

"Thank God!"

"Seriously, Dean!?"

"Look, what do you want me to tell you? I'm fine, a bit freaked out, and that's more about being a few thousand feet in the air than about the whole mind meld crap."

"Fine. Fine. If you feel ok, that's enough for me. But you tell me if you start feeling something strange."

"I will." Just then, Ingrid came out of the crew's quarters, informing us that we were about to land in Lisbon and could we please turn off our computers and retake our seats.

The landing was uneventful, we were told we had a couple of hours while the plane was refueled and checked after the long flight, and while the new pilot settled in.

Lisbon was sweltering. Southern Europe in June was hot and sunny. By August we would be baking in our own skin. _Oh, goody! Sunburns!)_

 _(Shut up.)_ Small mercy, the sun was setting.

The crew must have warned my father of our landing because as soon as I turned on my phone it rang. "Dad? Problems?"

"Can't I just want to hear from my daughter?" My father cultured voice rolled over me like molasses, thick, deep and sweet.

"Of course, but within seconds of my reaching Europe is suspicious."

His laughter filled the phone. Then he got serious: "An extraordinary board meeting has been called. Prague. Three weeks form today. Vittorio Verucchi is going to be in Rome until then, you will have to deal with him."

"Oh, fantastic, Dad. What can I look forward to next? A plague? No, wait! A crusade!"

"Yes, he's medieval in his thinking. Thank God he will have business in the Vatican, or he would have been underfoot even more."

"Medieval? Medieval is doing him a courtesy. The Templars were less medieval than Monsignor Verucchi." (Well, at least they respected hunters.

No, they respected male hunters. They would have burned us at the stake without thinking twice.

We are rich and from a powerful family. We wouldn't have burned.

Right, nice, we would have been married off to some idiot. Great, that would be so much better!)

"Amelia, he's just unwilling to see things change, and you will have to smooth his feathers"

I snorted. "You realize he loves to detest me, don't you? Last time we met he had the guts to tell me I should try being more female"

"I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding" he was lying, I could hear it in his voice, but I let it slide.

"Fine! What do I have to do?"

"Invite him to dinner? And maybe wear a dress, darling."

"You will make it worth my while, dad. I want a case waiting for me on my desk when I land. I need a case, dad, or I will hunt the Monsignore and be done with it"

"How are your guests, dear?"

"Father, a case."

"Very well, Amelia. I will have something delivered. But do wear a dress. It will make him so much more tolerable"

"I'll see you in Prague, then"

"Actually, I'll be in Rome in ten days."

"What?"

"Yes, darling, didn't George tell you?" (We've been set up, Amelia.

We shall retaliate. Soon.) "He must have forgotten"

"Well, I'll see you then"

"Bye, dad" I hung up, narrowing my eyes at my brother. "Georgie, did you, by chance, forget to mention a couple of things?"

"Shit"

"Yes, my point exactly"


	14. C8 p1: Rome

**Hi guys, I'm so so sorry about the gigantic delay! My life has been nucking futs, and my muse has been... well worse. Truth is, I want this story to go a certain direction and it just hasn't been: this past few weeks I've only been writing stuff that ends up being a lot darker than I ever want "Letter's Agenda" to be, so it all ended up being trashed or stashed away for later usage.** **It doesn't really help that I can't see an easy fix for the current season's situation.** **That does not mean I've stopped writing or that I won't be finishing this FF, just that it might proceed slower** **than intended. That said, I'm posting an itty bitty installment and apologizing once more for the wait.**

* * *

The rest of the trip was mostly quiet. We landed in Rome at night, the City shining under us. Its hundreds of steeples and domes brilliantly lit, thousands of years of history surrounded by cars and offices and houses. The eternal city is beautiful, a gorgeous, sprawling creation of marble and glass. _It's a shame Italians live here._

 _Don't remind me._ My grandfather had bought a house in the Garbatella in the Forties and had since paid a couple to always keep it ready for him or guests. Since me and then my brother had joined the Men of Letters the house had been in use much more often, but the housekeeper and her husband seemed happy with the company. Maria was the daughter of the original couple my grandfather had employed, she was now in her sixties herself, a retired hunter, and had a brood of children and grandchildren living in Rome and the surrounding cities. Her eldest daughter was a hunter herself and one of her grandchildren was training to become a Man of Letters.

In the last few years, Maria's lush curves had veered toward the softer plumpness of old age, and when she hugged you it felt like sinking in a warm pillow. She kissed both of my cheeks in greeting, a display of affection I had long gotten used to, but I saw the stiffening of Sam's and Dean's backs when she did the same to them. While she had worked with our family her whole life, her accent had never completely disappeared, even if her english had improved. "Welcome home! Come in, come in! I put coffee on when I heard the gate and there is cake of course!"

Italian coffee is served in these tiny little cups, like a shot of liquor, and it feels like a slap in the face. The caffeine high is instantaneous, wakes you right up, but it's borderline self-harm.

While Maria ushered us inside I warned the boys about the toxic coffee, but of course they had to try it anyway. Dean, almost spat it back out, Sam, probably out of politeness, swallowed, coughed, and carefully set the cup - dwarfed by his big hands - back down.

Maria laughed, at the scene, and pushed the cake closer to them.

I knew her well enough to see she was carefully studying the Winchesters while she chatted animatedly about the trip and our landing so late in the evening. I would have to ask for her impressions later. "Do you want some dinner, _cocca_? I didn't make anything yet because Ingrid generally feeds you but if you are hungry it only takes a few minutes for pasta."

Dean perked up at that, but it was Georgie who said: "Oh, yes, please, Maria!"

Maria kept up the conversation while she cooked. I declined more food, preferring to take a glass of wine. My hip had started hurting again, and I had designs on a couple of pills, a long shower and an even longer night of sleep in my bed.

Dinner was a quick and quiet affair, the boys devoured the pasta, Georgie texted feverishly between forkfuls and me and Maria shared a couple more glasses of red wine in companionable silence. "I'm going to bed, Maria, our father will arrive next week and I plan to have a dinner party sometime this week… would that be ok for you?"

She waved away my concerns, the gesture elegant in a way that spoke of habit. "It will be no problem, _cocca_. Just tell me the evening before the dinner so I will be able to shop. But who are you planning to call?"

"Monsignor Verucchi, for one"

" _Ossignore_ , why would you ever invite him?"

"It will make him more tolerable."

"Mmh, I'll believe that when I see it." _Yeah, me too._

* * *

* _cocca_ is an Italian endearment, it means something like "baby chicken" or "chick" (no female connotation like in english, it's just as frequently used for boys). It's what an aunt or grandma would call you.

** _Ossignore_ means "Oh, Lord"


	15. C8 p2: One Long Afternoon

**Hey everyone! As I said before the first part of Chapter 8, my muse has been throwing tantrums worse than Lilith's. Crossing my fingers and knocking on wood while i write this, but it seems she got back on track now.**

 **Reviews might help her, just saying *wink***

* * *

I had some shopping to do.

Contrary to popular opinion, shopping in Italy isn't any more fun than shopping anywhere else. What it is, is more expensive. But, when you have a Bishop to impress with your manners, you don't do it in jeans and a t-shirt. Especially not if those are your working clothes and you are a hunter.

This morning I had gone though the little clothes I had left in Rome over the years, and those I had brought with me to the States, and even I had been underwhelmed.

Either permanent stains, rips, tears and cuts could be found in almost every single item.

 _Mother would_ burn _every single item._

 _Stop channeling Mother, please. It's irritating._

 _We need Mother, right now. We need her sense of style, and the training she gave us._

 _Let's not go there._

I looked around carefully. The tiny street was full of tourists and shoppers. The first group carried backpacks and cameras, wore kakis and baseball caps, the second was all designer purses, fashionably distressed jeans, expensive t-shirts by famous brands and tiny ice-cream cups.

 _Mmmm, ice-cream._

 _Later, if we get what we need._

 _Bummer._ I needed a dress that said both good little hostess that spent her day slaving away in the kitchen, and dazzling belle of the ball with a title attached to her name. It wasn't easy. I was neither of those things, not really.

Mother had, if nothing else, taught me well: I needed simple fabric, smooth, in a deep shade of green or blue, burgundy if I couldn't find those, strapless if possible. The colors would play up my colors, the fabric give me an air of simplicity that would cater to the dear _Monsignore_.

Sandals would also be a good idea. _Makeup, too_ , I reminded myself.

Of course, when you have a very precise idea of what you want to buy, you end up spending hours looking for something that is barely acceptable.

By the time I finally had a gunmetal grey dress of smooth, high-thread count cotton, with the label proclaiming proudly the name of it's designer, and black sandals with a heel that didn't threaten to maim me, and enough makeup to catapult me from passable to gorgeous, I had also bought some work clothes that didn't look like they came from the bottom of a bin and a very sensible but high-quality suit to deal with law enforcement, evening clothes for the Winchesters and Georgie, bathing suits for everyone, new underwear and a pair of shorts that left part of the scars on my hip and leg exposed. I wasn't ashamed of them. I might not be as pretty as I used to be, but I was a hunter: scars were just part of the job.

I was on my way to buying a kilo or two of ice cream to bring home. The afternoon hadn't been a total waste of time.

That was when Georgie called me to inform me that Sam and Dean had commandeered the downstairs library and were educating themselves in the history of the Men of Letter and to remind me I had promised to go to the doctor. _Shit. We both know what they will say._

 _We are not in top shape. The new hip isn't really one hundred percent._

 _We don't have to be one hundred percent to work._

 _We do, for George and Dad._ And that, right there, was the truth.

My father had been true to his word and there was a case file sitting on my desk when we got in the day before, a haunted farm-house in Tuscany, but there was also a note that said that unless the osteopath cleared me I would be going nowhere.

I picked up the ice-cream from a little shop, some of Pompi's Tiramisù ***** boxes for tomorrow, then went to get the underground. The trip was less than comfortable with all the bags and packages, and bloody Italians bumping against me all the time, but it was quick if nothing else.

Maria's husband came to pick me up at the stop. George was in the car and informed me, in his most pompous voice, that I was going to the doctor and that was it.

No escape.

I didn't even bother protesting.

The private clinic was in an old, beautiful building with gardens all around it, marble staircases and spacious rooms and offices. The nurse was a small woman in her fifties, with a short bob of black air and a white coat over a pink dress. Like most nurses she had a no-nonsense voice and a friendly expression. She didn't speak fluent English, but it was no worse than my Italian.

Her name was Donata and she guided me to the second floor, to an office in the right wing. An older man, sixty, maybe sixty-five years old, with an open face and a gentle voice greeted me and Georgie there. He spoke fluent English and was thus spared me mangling his language. Told me his name, that he was an osteopath specialized in dealing with traumatic injuries on high-performing athletes, actors and such, and that he had been told I belonged to the first category. I was asked to undress, and he then proceeded to do what many other doctors had done before him: poke and prod and "Can you move this way? Bend that way? Sit? Now stand? Stretch like this? Run in place? Now with your knees high". He was thorough and kept talking in a voice that belonged to a kind grandfather.

In the end he settled his glasses more firmly on his nose and told me I could get dressed, then asked me and my brother to sit in the chairs in front of his desk. Unlike most hospitals they were antiques and very comfortable. "I haven't been told what happened to you, Lady Saymour, but that is not an injury you could have gotten on any field doing any sport that I know of. Not unless you decided to play polo with an elephant instead of a horse and it stepped on you." he saw the protest hovering on the tip of my tongue because he raised his hand and went on: "I'm not going to ask who or what did that to you: it's against the clinic's policy and I can see you would walk out of here if I did. Whoever did your surgery was very talented and made you functional when you should be barely able to walk. I gather you have some pain and the scar tissue impairs your movement?"

I nodded "Yes. It aches if I stay in a single position for too long."

"That is, I'm afraid, close to inevitable. However you might be able to get more flexibility and a wider range of movement if you had someone remove the scars."

"I have been told that the scarring is mostly cosmetic and has little impact on my… activities."

"That is true for the most part. Some of the scars are deep enough to impact the muscles. You did physiotherapy for the surgical scarring and they took care of that very well, but some of the scars haven't been addressed."

 _Oh, goody, a new round of strangers massaging and kneading and twisting and telling us what to do._ "Doctor, I'll be honest. I've been told that the prosthetic would always hurt a bit, I'm fine with that. I got those scars in a way that makes me want to keep them. That said, George and our Father are worried about me. They don't believe I'm well enough to participate in my usual… activities. Can you please just ease their minds about it?"

"Whatever your… activities" he mimicked my pause before the word "are, you are functional. You will not be able to run as fast and as far as before, but from what I've seen you have a good range and speed. It is true that, from what I can see from such superficial examination ninety percent of your scars are just cosmetics and that can be… ameliorated, at least, with a regimen of specific oils and, completely removed trough surgery, but the rest needs to be addressed or it will limit your movements more and more severely as you age."

George, worried, intervened, even while I kicked his shin: "Assume she was going to participate in a boxing match or in a bout of big-game hunting. Would you clear her, as things stand?"

"Yes. She's healthy. She won't be in ten or twenty years, though, if those deeper scars aren't properly taken care of."

I mulled that over for a few seconds. "Would you be able to do that?"

"Of course. Our clinic is extremely well appointed."

"I will be in Rome for the next… six, maybe eight months. Is that enough time? Provided I will be working in the meantime and will not agree to being confined to a bed." George glared at me at those caveats, but he didn't protest out-loud and when neither did the doctor, he relented.

"You will have to submit to a fairly regimented amount of physiotherapy, which will probably leave you sore and in worse pain than usual, but work or any other activity should not be out of your…" he hesitated, for the first time in our conversation looking like he was struggling with a phrase or word. "… reach."

I nodded. "Good, then you can reassure my father. If I know him he will call within the next thirty minutes. How soon can we start the physiotherapy? I need as much mobility as I can achieve for my work."

In the next few minutes we settled on the days and times I would have to be at the clinic, and then the same nurse, Donata, escorted us out. I wondered if she had been waiting outside the office for the last - I checked my watch - forty minutes.

By the time we got home, Maria had dinner almost ready and her husband had brought by my purchases and come back to the clinic for us. The Winchesters were standing awkwardly around the kitchen, trying to find something to do, looking like they never had anyone cook for them before. They probably hadn't, at that.

 _Good_ , they were due for some pampering and Maria was very very good at that.

She also seemed to have already picked up on that, too. She liked them. I could tell. She was already on the verge of adopting them into her sprawling family, by the looks she was giving them.

I made the call to organize the dinner with the Monsignore for that Saturday, then sat down with them for dinner. When it was just me and George, we ate in the kitchen with Maria, her husband and any of their children and grandchildren, a boisterously Italian family dinner, but when dad got here we would ate in the dining room on the first floor and the 'help' would stay downstairs.

He lived by the belief that everything English was the height of civility and poise. I could agree that Italians were loud, rude and, more often than not, batshit crazy, but they were also very welcoming people. Generally speaking. Bishop Verucchi being one of the exceptions.

George interrupted my musings: "So, Amy, what did you buy in your shopping spree?"

"Clothes. for me, you, and them" I stabbed my fork at the Winchesters, who raised their heads from the food to look at me like I had grown another head, and it was a weird one. "Makeup, shoes, the usual"

George laughed, knowing I didn't much like shopping in theory but that once I got into it I sort of got carried away. "All set for the dinner then?"

"Yes. It will be a formal dinner," out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam and Dean share a look that said quite clearly that they planned to make themselves as scarce as possible, and George had been trying to find an excuse for three days. "And if one of you dares not to show up I will ensure the next six moths are a lot worse than this dinner. Oh, and George, Anthea is coming." He perked up. The Winchesters swallowed their protest, and Maria grinned at me. _Well, looks like it's time to use the carrot._

 _You don't say._ "I have a case, I leave the morning after the dinner, anyone wants to join me?"

That, of all things, bought me some love, go figure.

 _I'd have bet on the_ _ice-cream._

 _Shut. UP._

* * *

 ***If any of you ever travel to Rome, treat yourself to some of Pompi's Tiramisù, you will find it in a tiny little shop right next to Piazza di Spagna, ask someone to point you to it, and it's the best Tiramisù you will ever have the pleasure of eating. Trust me. I went this winter and was shocked at how amazing it tasted.**


	16. C9 p1: The Dinner

**Ehi guys! So I really really hope you are still enjoying the story: our favorite hunters will be front and center in the next few chapters, while they have barely appeared in these last two, as I needed time to set the stage for a big reveal.**

 **Things will progress a bit faster from the next chapter on, big stuff will happen, but for now, enjoy the clothes and jewels *wink***

 **miss-olivia-winchester, thank you so much for your reviews, they always leave me with a silly smile on my face!**

* * *

The next couple of days were uneventful. I spent most of them either tucked away in the cool quiet of the downstair library, the one that held all the Men of Letters materials, with Sam and Dean, or sunbathing on the terrace on the second floor, going through the information my father had sent about the case, and listening to the noise of the city.

Sunbathing was, for me, like for most women with my skin tone, a fruitless endeavor. The only result was a smattering of small freckles on my nose and little else, but I enjoyed the burn of the sun on my skin.

The dinner was in just a few hours, which meant I would have to start getting ready soon, but I was reluctant to put down my novel.

I promised myself to go shower at the end of the chapter, but the reality was that a few more pages slipped by, before I put it down determinedly and started the long beauty ritual my mother had bored me with until I turned nineteen, sighing deeply.

I had just slipped out of the shower when someone knocked on the door to my room.

Anthea. Since she and George would in all probability study with the Winchesters most of the time in the next few months, I had invited her to stay with us.

She had arrived a few hours earlier, and had been settled in one of the smaller guest bedrooms on the other side of the corridor form my room, the larger ones having been assigned to the Winchesters.

I had not invited her to the hunt. There were too many of us and she was too… timid. Sometimes I was terrified of breaking her if I spoke too loudly. She was sweet, and unfailingly generous and kind to everyone. I often called her a sweet mouse, and I had never had a chance to doubt that image.

While George was a couple of years younger than her, he was so much more confident that he looked a great deal older. "Hi, Amy" her voice was soft when I opened the door and she was immediately contrite had having interrupted my shower.

"Don't worry, you caught me when I was already putting on my bathrobe. Come in. Do you need something?"

She fidgeted a second, in the middle of the room, almost ready to bolt, but then she straightened her spine. "George told me you all will be going off on a hunt tomorrow." she gulped but said it: "I want to come."

 _I had not seen that one coming. Our babies are growing up!_ "Are you sure, Anthea? It's still a little early for you to take on your first field case."

"I know, but… but George is going. And he says hauntings aren't as dangerous as some of the other stuff and the Winchesters are there, so maybe I won't be as scared." She gulped again, then, with a strength in her eyes I had never seen before she added: "I have to start somewhere. Going with you guys will be as safe as I can possibly be the first time."

I considered her for a long moment. She had made her decision. _Damn._ "Fine. You can come. Now go get dressed for dinner."

She grinned, pumped her fist and ran out, likely before I could change my mind.

It took me a few seconds to remember the precise order of the ritual my mother had taught me when I turned thirteen, and I used that time to dab perfume behind my ears and between my breasts. I hadn't worn perfume since Cal died. I pushed away the thought of my husband, ignoring the icy sensation locking itself around my stomach. _Makeup. Focus on the makeup._ First a moisturizer, then a base with the gold undertone, then a loose soft powder with a slightly pink undertone, to even out my coloring.

By the time I was putting the finishing touch on my mascara, I had just the time to slip into my dress and pull my hair in an easy twist.

A few minutes later I surveyed myself critically in the full length mirror. _Well, nobody can say we don't clean up nicely. It's almost a shame mother isn't here to see us, she'd be so proud._

 _She would be telling us that the dress is too gloomy._

 _She would be right. It needs some accessorizing._

 _I am_ not _going to use_ her _jewelry._

 _Well, you'd better find something to use. Because we look ready for a funeral._

My father was extremely well organized and he generally could be counted on to keep some of the family's heirlooms at every house we owned, especially the ones my mother frequented rarely. I supposed I could go raid his safe.

I lost a few minutes, but found something perfect. My father's safe contained enough jewelry to feed a small Country for a few years. My grandmother had been an avid collector of jewelry, and my grandfather had never protested as he figured that is was an investment like any other. Turned out that a good portion of her collection had ended up in Rome.

I slipped the necklace over my head, and headed back to the first floor, where I could hear my brother chatting with Anthea, Sam and Dean.

"Well, look who's finally deigning to show up!" George exclaimed, watching me come down the last few steps, the only ones visible from the main hall.

The others's eyes went as big as saucers: they had never seen me in anything but jeans and t-shirts. I could see Dean bite his tongue to keep it in check, but it was Sam who recovered first. "That is a wonderful dress, but of course you are always beautiful."

With all the poise I could muster, I curtsied to the room at large, grinning.

I was wearing ridiculous shoes, a ridiculous dress and a frighteningly expensive necklace.

My brother focused on the latter, and fixing its positioning slightly he asked "Grandmother?"

The necklace was made of four long strands of black and white pearls, with diamonds and sapphires peeping between them here and there. It also had a finely crafted detail depicting a seahorse, made entirely of diamonds and sapphires. It's box had proclaimed "Van Cleef & Arpels" and it had looked quite old. I nodded. It was gorgeous, but in any other situation I would never wear something like that.

Wearing the thin gold chain with my wedding bands and Cal's cross around my left wrist probably ruined the ensemble a little, but I didn't care.

That was when Maria's husband opened the front door to let in Monsignor Verucchi. The bishop was a small, thin man, with a round balding head under the crimson zucchetto. His mouth was already set in a displeased little frown, but he kept from making any sharp comment while I made the introductions.

He couldn't restrain himself for much longer, tough, apparently. "Well, I must say, dear, that I'm very surprised you had the good sense to let someone help you pick your clothes. It must have been very difficult for you, what with that terrible pride you seem to have."

Anthea hung her head and I could see the Winchesters follow the conversation like a tennis match out of the corner of my eyes. I smiled at him sweetly, while forcing my hands not to clench around his skinny neck. "It was dreadful, I assure you." He wanted a pretty airhead? I was going to play the part like there was no tomorrow. And when I finally got the Hunters at large admitted into the Letters, I was going to enjoy watching him squirm as it chafed his uptight ass.

Verucchi was one of the main opposers of the proposal, being a firm believer in the secrecy of the order and an elitist. He wanted very badly for Sam and Dean to fail, to be either ousted or at least discredited enough not to have a voice in the Letters… _Ohhh, I'm going to enjoy blowing his plans up tonight… It might as well be Christmas._

 _Calm down. It needs to be more than my word against his._

 _We need more bodies in the room when we do it._

I guided the party to the formal dining room. "My father told me about your recent visit with the Pope, do tell me what His Holiness thinks of our efforts…"

The formal dining room was meant to impress. A giant portrait of this or that ancestor hung over the marble fireplace, discreetly featuring the Aquarius Star, the symbol of the Letters, on one of his cufflinks. The glass windows showed a beautiful view of Rome, and the table was formally set but without a tablecloth, to better show off the polished ebony wood. If our guests hadn't been Letters, at the place of honor, the center of the table, would have been set a silver centerpiece that weighted almost as much as I did, but tonight it was bare, showing an ivory Aquarius Star inlaid in the dark wood, proclaiming our allegiance for our guests to see.

My family had always known how to impress.

The conversation trickled on all the way through the third course, as Monsignor Verucchi and George doing most of the talking. I resented having to play the empty-headed fool for the bishop so I made sure to keep my mouth busy with food. The Winchesters didn't seem sure what to do, which forks and knives to use and what to say, so they followed my example, keeping their mouths and plates full and savoring the delicious meal Maria had made for us. Anthea participated every once in a while, her voice light and soft. The bishop seemed to like her well enough.

 _Sod all of this. Drop the bomb._

 _Not yet. Patience._ "Bishop, I hope you don't mind," I said in my best bubble-brain voice. "I asked Mr. Ceccherelli over for dessert. He and his wife will join us shortly."

"That was a wonderful idea, Amelia. You should have invited them for the whole dinner." _but then we wouldn't have been able to hold it in until now._

"I suppose Mr. Ceccerelli is very busy, Your Excellency." Intervened George "I heard he recently acquired a new student and he seems promising enough to be afforded most of our esteemed historian's time, both on and off the clock" George could be a stick in the mud, but he knew how to out-polite anyone.

And that was the moment the door-bell rang.

 _Finally. Witnesses._


	17. C9 p2: Bonus

**Hi everyone! So, it's been a long wait this time around too, and I'm sorry about that... but I hope it will have been worth it. I will not say anything more for fear of spoiling the surprise except, now that the last episode of the 11th season has been out for a while... did I predict the future or what?**

 **Guest: here's more, I hope it makes you go "wow" this time too!**

 **Miss-Olivia-Winchester, thank you for your review, they always make me ridiculously happy, and, no, people aren't cruel, but this FF has no romance and no sex so it isn't as attractive on paper as some of the others, I'm okay with that, I knew at the start it wouldn't have as big an audience as it could have if I had gone for the romance. Hugs!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The Ceccarellis were in their seventies. They had been comfortably wealthy their whole lives, extremely well educated and perfectly content in their slight eccentricity.

While Mr. Ceccarelli was a chatterbox and had spent most of his life being the Letters' Historian and Memory Keeper, thus in self imposed exile from the normal world, his wife, Carlotta, had expertly navigated both the hidden world of the Letters and the public, becoming the owner of a prestigious law firm in an age when most women were still firmly in their husbands' grasp, and a respected member of the Men of Letters when very few women were welcome among their ranks. When she married Mr. Ceccarelli many thought she would retire, let him take the lead. The opposite happened. Her husband, Lorenzo, was very happy to be a scholar and chronicler, and had no wish to waste his time with politics, leaving her as the head of the family.

Now retired in the eyes of the public world but still very active among the Letters, she was a woman of few words and sharp whit.

Her husband wore his own white hair and mustache short, in the same careless stile he probably had adopted as a young man. Lorenzo Ceccarelli had been a blond, blue eyed lad when he had talked Carlotta Medici into marrying him. Everyone who had ever been in his office had seen the picture of their wedding that sat in a place of honor behind his desk. A tall man with an infectious grin and a diminutive young woman with curly hair and black eyes, with one hand fisted in his jacket, pulling him down into a kiss. Of course, at the time, many thought him mad for marrying the harpy, but theirs had been an happy marriage, graced first with a son and twin daughters, then with a soccer team of grandchildren.

And Carlotta Ceccarelli was the general of that small army. No taller than me, she wore her grey hair in a careful knot, taming the curls that were still evidently wild at her advanced age. While her Lorenzo was very respected among the Letters, she was the one who made the final decisions… and now I needed them to witness what I was gearing up to do.

 _Oh, for God's sake, just do it!_ the other me inside wanted the chaos of just blurting it out, simply, without explanations, but I couldn't do that the two men sitting carefully on my left. The Winchesters had become friends in these weeks, they were no longer just my quarry or pawns to be moved carefully across a chessboard. And I knew that what I was about to do would hurt them on more than one level. So I would not just "do it".

I smiled at Carlotta who now sat on my right, her and Her husbands having sat respectively on the left and right of the Bishop, and raised my glass, sweet strong wine gleaming gold. "A toast? To our newest members. And legendary hunters." I turned my head to smile at the brothers and caught the flash of surprise in their eyes at having been put in the spotlight for the first time that evening.

Carlotta raised her glass, grinned at the boys: "And two such fine specimens", her accent faint, barely a lilt on some words.

But as I had known he would, Bishop Verucchi could not refrain from saying "A shame they joined us just because of the incredible rewards they are being offered"

Mr. Ceccarelli took a sip then made a placating gesture "Now, now, nobody can fault the boys for taking what was being offered"

I was looking at Sam and Dean and I saw the instant the words registered: confusion in the changeable eyes of the younger brother, turning the brown to hazel then moss, suspicion in the green ones at his side. Of course, they didn't yet know the import of the bonus… and I had been very careful to ensure they never wondered too much about it, not mentioning it after that first time when I had implied it was an economic enticement. And the ability to live in the place that had become your home, and a stipend, no matter how big, were not "incredible rewards". _Say it, say it, say it!_

 _Not yet. Patience._ "They don't know, yet, Monsignore." I said, then turned to the brothers. "Sam? Would you please tell us the condition of your agreeing to come to Rome were?"

I could have asked Dean, but right now he was looking from me to George in a way that said he didn't trust us as far as he could trow us and I doubted he would have answered. Sam instead, was focused, the boy who wanted to be a lawyer with a steel trap of a mind, had snapped at the words, knew there was something I hadn't said yet, something big, and he wanted to know what bad enough to follow my lead in this… even while my eyes offered the apologies I couldn't verbalize. He nodded at me, then turned those open eyes to the Ceccarellis and the Bishop sitting opposite to him. "We were approached at a diner, by Amelia alone, and informed of the continued existence of the Men of Letters. We believed the order to have died out in 1958, but had found the bunker our grandfather died to protect… it has since become our home. When we are not hunting we live there. Amy told us that we either agreed to become members of the Letters or the bunker would be demolished after all the important stuff was taken out. The alternative was accept to be trained, get paid a salary by the Letters, and keep our home. We didn't agree until we had proof that the European Men of Letters were a thing and not a lie invented for whatever reason by Amelia and George."

I turned my attention to Mr. Ceccarelli "You might remember our conversation about Mr. Ackers letters?"

He grinned. "Ah, yes, of course, of course my dear! I'm always going on to my students about the importance of correctly filing away even the apparently most trivial piece of information, but I will be using this as a cautionary tale for sure! We almost lost two Legacies because those letters had been left… where did you find them?"

"In his bathroom drawer." muttered Sam.

"The bathroom drawer?" the shock in Lorenzo's voice was apparent, and his wife looked up at the ceiling in a mute prayer for strength. "The bathroom drawer! Ridiculous. One mustn't of course speak ill of the dead but that Ackers must have had suffered an head injury long before Abbadon killed him! Storing important information in a bathroom! I never! Assurdo!*"

Monsignor Verucchi ignored the tirade and looked speculatively at Sam, but decided to direct his question to Dean, probably believing him the weaker link. _Foolish of him._ "And the bonus?"

Dean's voice was deeper than usual, more rocks than whiskey. "What bonus? We were told it would be explained after we accepted, but we still know nothing of it." there was no trace of guile in that growly voice, no untruth, even the Bishop could not doubt.

And that was the moment Verucchi figured it out. I saw it in his narrow face, in his wide eyes. He understood now that in underestimating me he had made a dramatic mistake. I had burned through my 'cover' with him, he would no longer see me as a tomboy who should have long ago learned her place and stopped playing at being an hunter, allowing me to do my business in the shadows, right under his nose, but it was worth it. "They don't know yet, Monsignore. In fact, I organized this dinner precisely because I wished to have some witnesses of the moment they were told."

George, who had been following the last few minutes of the conversation like a tennis match, looked at me with wide eyes. "Amy…" I knew what he was trying to tell me. Not now, not like this, prepare them, but I could not. No amount of preparation would soften the blow, or dull the pain of the decision they would have to make.

Everyone at the table was looking at me, but I noticed the Winchester's reaction to George's unvoiced plea. A flick of a glance, and they, too, understood that what I was about to say would change something big for them.

I couldn't hesitate right now, but I could, at least, direct the words at them, softening my voice and allowing them to see that they were no longer pawns in a bigger game, instead of tossing them at the Bishop as I had originally planned. "When we were tasked to bringing you into the Men of Letter, the Council decided to offer you a bonus. One is offered to every member who joins, but it is usually of a financial nature, or a book of particular interest to the person in question, or a particular position in the order, should the candidate prove worthy. It was decided that this may not be enough to entice you. You showed little interest in money or books and none at all in politics. So it was decided to offer you something no one could refuse, something that is normally forbidden to the Letters. The offer came with a lot of strings attached. Strings I would not have been able to untangle you from and that would have made you useless to my agenda, if you had accepted to join the Letters knowing about this bonus. So I didn't tell you, cutting the strings at the root. The offer, made now, when you are already in training, is… free of charge, so to speak. Nobody will be able to point to you and dismiss you as members because of the magnitude of the offer, because you accepted to be trained without ever knowing."

"You are beating around the bush. What is it." There was no question in Sam's voice.

"Just spit it out." Dean.

"The offer is to bring someone back for you. Someone who died."

The Winchesters froze. For a long second nobody spoke, then: "What the fuck?"

 _You should shock him more often, his voice becomes a whisky neat when you do._

 _Now's not the best moment to be a bitch._

* * *

 _*_ Assurdo!: absurd. Like many Italians, when excited, Ceccarelli reverts to Italian.

* * *

 **So... where you expecting this? Was I too obvious in the previous chapters? Tell me what you think! I have known what the bonus would be since page one, so I may have unwittingly left some clues!**

 **Kisses all around**


	18. C9 p3: Terms and Conditions

**Hi guys! So, the new chapter is up, and as usual I'm a little nervous about what you'll think.**

 **Anyway, first things first: than you so much Miss-Olivia-Winchester and Aislinn Rose! I'm so happy you enjoyed the reveal! =)** **Reviews always make me smile!**

* * *

"I'm sorry what the fuck did you just say?"

 _Has he gone deaf, do you think?_ "We can bring someone back for you. There are conditions but we can save one person…" I knew perfectly well the enormity of what I had just told them… if someone had told me I could get Cal back… but it was not possible. I was not enough of a bitch to be sarcastic right now, no matter what the other me thought.

"I'm sorry, with all due respect to the clergy, I don't give an holy fuck. I heard you. What I want to know is why. Why offer something like this to me and Sam, when you could be bringing your husband back."

The words, coming from someone else were unexpectedly potent. Like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. It took me a couple of seconds to find my voice again. "Because under normal circumstance it is… forbidden." I clenched my fist for a long second. "This offer… it has price, and an expiration date. The price… A life for a life, of course. Going back in time to the person at the last instant of their life, altering the memories of those around them, then bringing that person back… it takes a lot of very focused soul power. The one doing the retrieval would not survive. Cal would not forgive me for sacrificing myself for him, or worse, stealing someone else's energy to do it." Another pause, swallowing the hurt. "The offer was made to you for many reasons, some of which I don't know yet… and because one of the Letters is dying of cancer, and would like to use his last weeks to discover more about time travel. His memories will be collected, studied. The expiration date is his death. Right now we are keeping him aware and free of pain but even fueling his soul cannot keep him alive forever. He is a scholar, much like Mr. Ceccarelli… he dedicated his life to studying the limits of our brand of magic."

Mr. Ceccarelli knew the man in question very well, as he had been one of his students, and nodded sadly, his normally cheerful voice subdued when he chimed in: "This is his last contribution to the advancement of his field. When he heard of the likeliness of your disinterest in joining the Letters he jumped at the chance that his proposal might not be dismissed."

Carlotta added: "Magnus had made the request before, a few years ago, when his cancer had gotten out of hand before. When it came back this time it was more aggressive and he was left with no hope for the future at all. He made the offer again, hoping that the Council would agree because of the widespread wish to entice you to join our ranks. It had previously been dismissed because it was impossible to agree on who to bring back, and because he had a chance, however small, of surviving his illness. Now the choice is yours to make, and he cannot have more treatment, medical or otherwise… Even if you chose to refuse the offer in hopes of saving his life, he won't live to see the autumn."

"So what you are saying is, this guy is dying, wants to go out with a bang, which I can totally understand, but why offer this to us. And I don't mean the Council, because I get that one of you doesn't know what the others wants. Politics. But why not bring back… I don't know, his father, a friend, whatever."

"There are rules." grumbled the Bishop, but he was cut off by Carlotta: "I believe you met another Magnus, in the States. One who ignored the Council's decisions and set himself up as a… well. A crazy bastard - mi perdoni, Monsignor Verucchi - who wished to make you into collectibles, if the information I got was correct. Using our abilities for selfish reasons is… deplorable. We use them to save lives. To further knowledge that could help future generations. To protect the delicate balance of our world. Magnus Sygbiorn is a good man, he lived a quiet life of study, his wife and children are all safe. He is not so young that the loss of his parents torments him unduly and he is not so old to have seen people younger than him die. He has also never been an hunter, surrounded by the deaths of those he fights with. He has no one he burns to save." She touched my hand gently, the one from which my husband's cross and rings hung. "But he saw the opportunity to fulfill all of our missions, and to avoid dying in terrible pain and indignity."

It was Sam who spoke, this time. His voice soft. "You say there are conditions."

Once again, I let Calotta speak. "It must be someone who will be willing to become a Man of Letters, man or woman it doesn't matter, but young enough to be willing and able to learn. They will also have to be willing to be under your… command. As the first and oldest members of the new American Chapter, you will be Councilmen, and thus in charge of most of the Letters in America. They have to have died in the last few years, otherwise their death might have affected too much in the scheme of things. We know some souls are reincarnated if they are not… content in Paradise, but that isn't immediate. Five, sometimes ten years. You may ask your Castiel to confirm. They must also no other affiliations."

"What do you mean with "no other affiliations"?"

This time I was the one to answer. "A prophet must always first answer to God and his conscience. Would not be able to disclose his full memories. I'm sorry, I know you considered the prophet, Kevin, a member of the family. The same goes for demons, angels, vampires and the other races… they must be fully human."

"Hunters?" Dean's voice was clear, sharp.

"Acceptable. So long as they are willing to follow your lead and young enough to be trained as Letters." It was the Bishop who answered, surprisingly his voice was not unkind. "Your fathers would be too old."

Dean nodded. I knew they would have liked to have Bobby back. _Maybe not John, though._

 _No, not John. He did too much damage, they would not bring him back... and not being able to spares them the choice._

 _Nobody in their right mind would want John Winchester back from the dead and that just from reading the books, never mind after having lived with him._ As that was the truth I didn't argue with the other me. The brothers shared a look, then: "We will need a few days to think about it."

I nodded. "Take as much time as you need, I, we won't press. Remember only that Magnus's time is limited."

Anthea spoke up for the first time in so long, I had almost forgotten she was there. Sitting between George and Dean, she turned to the oldest Winchester. "I… I know you don't like the books. That you don't like it when people tell you they have read them. But I think we all have and that is why you were given this gift." She flushed, but went on anyway, after a brief glance at George. "You are heroes for many of us… You are very respected. You will be even more so in a few months, when you will have passed the tests. I… I am very glad you are the ones that got this chance, you lost too much."

After that the dinner party broke up quickly: Monsignor Verucchi left digging a cell phone out of a jacket pocket the instant he was out of the door, the Ceccarelli spent a few minutes talking to Maria, George and Anthea. I had one more thing to do before I could give some respite to my aching side.

I headed toward the Winchesters, who were in a corner whispering fiercely to each other.

I only caught the tail end of a phrase before they noticed me, but it was enough to get the gist: "…gotta think about this, Sam!"

I touched their arms, guiding them farther from the chatting group on the other end of the room. I was terrible at apologies, so I just blurted it out: "I'm so sorry I had to do it this way. I can't apologize enough. I… I made the decision a while ago and I hadn't counted on caring about you or your feelings, but I do. You grew on me. And I'm so, so terribly sorry, Sam, Dean"

Sam nodded and said it was fine, but Dean surprised me by hugging me with just a "C'mhere" that let me know I was truly forgiven.

 _We are adopting them, aren't we?_

 _I think we already have._

* * *

 **So, in the next couple of installments there will be an hunt and a big decision to make... I already have a "sketch" of how the hunt will go, but if someone gives me ideas about a cool monster I'm all for it! And someone will come back soon... Who do you think it should be? Any suggestions and/or guesses about either or both?**


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